\ 


#^t; 


Srom  f ^e  £,i6rarg  of 

(profefiBor  ^amitef  (gXiffer 

in  (^emorg  of 

Sub^e  ^amuef  (gitifPer  QBrecftinrtbge 

(Jjreeentcb  615 

^amuef  (tttiffer  QSrecftinribge  feong 

fo  f ^e  fet6rarg  of 

(Jjrincefon  C^eofogicaf  ^eminarj? 


V.I 


iI^IBm(£)S?^ 


-4uit^*4fkUK 


SAMUEL  STANHOPE  SMITH,  D.  D. 

LATE  PRESIDENT  OF  PRINCETON  COLLEGE,  NEW  JERSEY. 


TO  WHICH  IS  PREFIXED, 


A  BRIEF  MEMOIR 


OF  HIS 


LIFE  AND  WRITINGS. 


TWO  VOLS. VOL.   I. 


PHILADELPHIA: 

PUBLISHED  BY  S.  POTTER  AND  CO. 
J.  MAXWELL,  PRINTER. 

1821. 


<&iii^liiiiW 


EASTERN  DISTRICT  OF  PENNSYLVANIA,  to  wit: 

BE  IT  Remembered,  that  oa  the  3d  day  of  May,  in  the  forty-fifth  year  of  the 
independence  of  the  United  States  of  America,  A.  D.  1821,  S.  Potter  &  Co. 
of  the  said  district,  hath  deposited  in  this  office  the  title  of  a  book,  the  right  where- 
of they  claim  as  proprietors  in  the  words  following  to  wit: 

Sermons  of  Samuel  Stmihjpe  Smith,  D.  D.  late  president  of  Princeton  college,  J^ew 
Jersey.     To  which  is  prefixed,  a  brief  memoir  of  his  Life  and  Writit^s. 

In  comformity  to  the  act  of  the  congress  of  the  United  States,  entitled  "  An 
act  for  th&  encouragement  of  learning,  by  securing  the  copies  of  maps,  charts,  and 
books,  to  the  authors  and  proprietors  of  such  copies,  durng  the  times  therein  men- 
tioned." And  also  to  the  act,  entitled,  "  An  act  supplementary  to  an  act,  entitled, 
"  An  act  for  the  encouragement  of  learning,  by  securing  the  copies  of  maps,  charts 
and  books,  to  the  authors  and  proprietors  of  such  copies  during  the  times  therein 
mentioned,"  and  extending  the  benefits  thereof  to  the  arts  of  designing,  engraving, 
and  etching  historical  and  other  prints." 

^  DAVID  CALDWELL, 

Clerk  of  the  Eastern  District  of  Pennsylvania. 


CONTENTS  OF  VOL.  I. 


An  account  of  the  life  and  writings  of  the  Author,         -        -        3 
Sermon  I.  Felix  trembling  before  Paul,  .        _        -       63 

II.  On  the  Parable  of  the  Prodigal  Son,  -  -        82 

III.  Repentance  of  the  Prodigal,  -  -  -  97 

IV.  Return  of  the  Prodigal  to  his  Father,  -  -         112 

V.  On  swearing  in  Common  Conversation,         -  -         127 

VI.  To  a  good  man  the  day  of  death  preferable  to  the  day 
ofbirth, 141 

VII.  The  recompense  of  the  Saints  in  Heaven,      -       -        158 

VIII.  On  Slander,  172 

IX.  On  Redeeming  time,        -        -  -  -  -191 

X.  The  giving  of  the  Law  on  Mount  Sinai,         -  -      209 

XI.  A  discourse  on  the  guilt  and  folly  of  being  ashamed  of 
religion,  _.-_-.  222 

XII.  A  discourse  on  the  nature  and  danger  of  small 
Faults, -        -       241 

XIII.  On  Charity, 259 

XIV.  Paul  pleading  before  Agrippa,  _        .        .        282 

XV.  Desire  of  the  apostle  to  depart  and  be  with  Christ,    296 

XVI.  Religion  necessary  to  National  Prosperity,  -        314 

XVII.  The  Original  Trial  and  the  Fall  of  Man,  or  the  first 
sin  and  its  consequences,         -  .  -  -        337 

XVIII.  On  the  Love  of  praise, 354 

XIX.  On  Ruling  Sin, 384 


AN  ACCOUNT 


OF  THE 


LIFE  AND  WRITINGS 


OF  THE 


REV.  SAMUEL  STANHOPE  SMITH,  D.  D.  L.  L.  D 

Late  President  of  Princeton  College. 


VOL.  I. 


AN  ACCOUNT 


OF  THE 


LIFE  AND  WRITINGS 


OF  THE 


REV.  SAMUEL  STANHOPE  SMITH,  D.  D.  L.  L.  D, 

Late  President  of  Princeton  College. 

Samuel  Stanhope  Smith,  late  President  of  Prince- 
ton College,  was  born  on  the  sixteenth  day  of  March, 
in  the  year  of  our  Lord  1 750,  at  Pequea  in  the  town- 
ship of  Sahsbury  and  county  of  Lancaster,  in  the  then 
colony  and  at  present,  state  of  Pennsylvania.  His  fa- 
ther, the  Rev.  Robert  Smith,  an  emigrant  from  Ireland, 
was  a  celebrated  preacher  and  eminent  divine  of  the 
Presbyterian  church,  and  for  many  years  superintend- 
ed a  respectable  academy,  established  by  himself,  and 
under  his  care  many  pious  and  worthy  clergymen  of 
that  church  were  reared.  His  mother,  was  Elizabeth 
Blair,  daughter  of  the  Rev.  Samuel  Blair,  and  sister  of 
those  distinguished  divines,  Samuel  and  John  Blair,  than 
the  former  of  whom  the  church  has  seldom  possessed 
a  more  judicious  and  profound  Theologian,  or  a  more 
fervent  and  successful  Minister  of  the  Gospel  than  the 
latter.  He  was  initiated  into  the  elements  of  his  own 
language  by  his  mother,  who  was  a  woman  of  an  ex- 


4  Life  of  Dr.  Smith. 

cellent  native  understanding,  adorned  with  the  softest 
and  most  pleasing  manners.     His  parents,  being  en- 
couraged by  the  prompt  parts  and  virtuous  dispositions 
of  their  son,  whicli  began  very  early  to  display  them- 
selves, determined  that  no  exertions  should  be  wanted 
to  the  assiduous  cultivation  of  them ;  and  that  he  should 
enjoy  all  the  advantages  of  a  liberal  education,  which 
his  country  at  that  time  afforded. — At  the  age  of  six  or 
seven  he  commenced  the  study  of  the  learned  languages 
in  his  father's  academy,  which  besides  a  general  su- 
perintendence by  his  father,  was. entrusted  to  the  care 
of  instructors  who  had  come  out  from  Ireland,  and 
brought  with  them  those  rigid  notions  of  scholastic 
discipline,  and  that  minute  accuracy  in  the  system  of 
teaching,  which  were  prevalent  in  their  native  coun- 
try.    It  was  the  custom  of  this  school,  to  require  the 
pupils,   not  merely  to  dip  into  the  Latin  and  Greek 
classics,  or  pass  in  rapid  transition  from  one  to  another, 
by  which  means  a  very  superficial  knowledge  of  any  is 
obtained,  but  when  once  they  had  commenced  an  au- 
thor, to  read  carefully  and  attentively  the  entire  work. 
Besides  this  laudable  and  beneficial  custom,  the  scho- 
lars of  this  academy,  were  stimulated  to  exertion  by 
being  brought  into  frequent  competition,  and  by  having 
conferred  upon  the  successful  candidates  for  distinction 
such  honours  as  were  calculated  to  awake  their  boyish 
emulation,  and  to  quicken  their  diligence  and  atten- 
tion.    Latin  was  the  habitual  language  of  the  school, 
and  after  the  pupils  had  passed  through  a  few  of  the 
elementary  works,  as  the  Colloquies  of  Corderius  and 
the  fables  of  iEsop,  any  error  which  they  committed 


Life  of  Dr.  Smith.  $ 

in  grammatical  propriety,  either  in  addressing  the  teacher 
or  in  speaking  with  one  another,  was  punishable  as  a 
fault.  One  literary  exercise  in  the  school  was  contest- 
ed with  more  than  ordinary  emulation.  When  any 
class  had  advanced  in  its  course  beyond  the  Metamor- 
phoses of  Ovid  and  the  Bucolics  of  Virgil,  the  mem- 
bers of  it  were  permitted  to  enter  into  voluntary  com- 
petitions for  preeminence.  On  alternate  Saturdays 
eight  or  ten  of  the  better  scholars  from  different  clas- 
ses, were  allowed  to  try  their  skill  in  the  languages  in 
the  presence  of  the  principal  teacher.  Each  competitor 
was  suffered  to  select  a  sentence  within  a  certain  com- 
pass, of  one  or  two  hundred  lines,  consisting  of  not 
more  than  six  or  seven  hexameter  verses.  On  this  se- 
lected portion,  he  was  the  sole  examiner,  and  was  per- 
mitted to  inquire  about  every  thing  with  which  he  could 
make  himself  acquainted,  by  the  most  diligent  previous 
investigation;  such  as,  the  grammatical  construction  of 
the  sentences,  the  derivation  of  words,  their  composi- 
tion, relations  and  quantity,  the  history  or  mythology 
referred  to  in  the  passage,  the  beauty  and  pertinence 
of  the  figures  and  allusions,  together  with  the  taste  and 
delicacy  of  sentiment  displayed  by  tlie  poet.  After  the 
whole  contest,  which  usually  lasted  several  hours,  was 
concluded,  rewards  were  bestowed  by  the  master  upon 
those  who  discovered  the  greatest  address  and  ingenui- 
ty in  conducting  it.  Competitions  of  this  nature  with 
his  school-fellows,  were  all  that  diversified  the  early 
life  of  Mr.  Smith,  and  on  these  occasions,  he  is  said  to 
have  discovered  remarkable  adroitness  and  intelligence 
for  a  lad  of  his  age,  generally  sui'passing  those  who 


6  Life  of  Dr.  Smith. 

were  much  older  than  himself;  although,  as  Dr.  John- 
son is  reported  to  have  had  a  Hector,  who,  in  this  kind 
of  academical  warfare,  rivalled  and  vanquished  him; 
so  our  scholar  found  in  a  young  man  by  the  name  of 
Dunlap,  a  formidable  competitor,  who  often  wrested 
from  him  the  palm  of  victory. 

At  this  early  age  Mr.  Smith  not  only  discovered  that 
the  sentiments  of  religion  had  taken  deep  root  in  his 
heart,  by  publicly  joining  the  communion  of  the  Pres- 
byterian church,  but  evinced  a  strong  predilection  for 
that  sacred  profession,  which  he  afterwards  adopted, 
and  in  which  he  so  eminently  excelled.  Taking  little 
pleasure  and  aspiring  to  no  distinction  in  the  gymnastic 
exercises  and  sports  of  his  school-fellows,  he  was  re- 
marked even  at  this  early  period  to  be  prone  to  sober- 
ness and  reflection.  At  church  he  was  unusually  at- 
tentive to  the  services  and  the  sermon,  and  at  his  re- 
turn home  would  give  his  father  an  accurate  account 
not  only  of  the  text,  and  the  general  distribution  of  the 
parts,  but  oftentimes  of  the  most  minute  subdivisions, 
together  with  the  striking  illustrations  and  remarks.  In 
the  absence  of  his  father  from  home,  he  seemed  to  take 
great  pleasure,  in  turn  with  his  pious  and  excellent 
mother,  in  performing  divine  service  in  the  family;  and 
on  some  occasions,  forming  the  semblance  of  a  pulpit, 
and  collecting  his  little  brothers  and  companions  round 
him,  he  would  go  through,  with  great  gravity  and  earn- 
estness all  the  exercises  of  pubHc  worship. 

From  his  father's  academy  he  was  transferred  in  his 
sixteenth  year  to  the  college  at  Princeton,  in  the  state 
of  New  Jersey.    The  President  of  that  Institution,  the^ 


Life  of  Dr.  Smith.  7 

Rev.  Dr.  Samuel  Findlay,  having  lately  died,  and  the 
president  elect,  the  Rev.  Dr.  John  Witherspoon,  not 
having  yet  arrived  from  Scotland,  the  College  at  this 
time  was  under  the  direction  of  the  Rev.  Dr.  Blair,  pro- 
fessor of  theology,  Mr  Joseph  Periam,  professor  of  ma- 
thematics, and  Mr.  James  Thompson,  professor  of  lan- 
guages.    Here  those  talents  which  had  just  begun  to 
unfold  themselves  in  his  father's  school,  were  display- 
ed on  a  wider  and  more  conspicuous  theatre  of  action. 
Commencing  with  the  studies  of  the  Junior  year,  which, 
in  that  seminary,  was  devoted,  for  the  most  part,  to 
mathematics  and  natural  philosophy,  Mr.  Smith  main- 
tained throughout  the  whole  of  his  collegiate  course, 
distinguished  reputation  both  for  capacity  and  exem- 
plary deportment.     Before  the  conclusion  of  the  first 
year,  he  was  publicly  presented  by  the  faculty  in  the 
presence  of  his  class,  as  the  reward  of  his  preeminent 
success  in  his  studies,  with  the  mathematical  works  of 
the  professor  of  that  branch  of  science,  in  the  Univer- 
sity of  Oxford  in  England.     Similar  testimonials  of  re- 
spect were  bestowed  upon  him  by  the  professors  dur- 
ing the  different  stages  of  his  progress,  both  before  and 
after  the  arrival  of  Dr.  Witherspoon,  who  at  this  period 
entered  upon  the  duties  of  the  presidency;  and  in  the 
eighteenth  year  of  his  age,  he  took  his  first  degree  in 
the  arts  under  circumstances  of  distinction  and  supe- 
riority in  a  high  degree  gratifying  to  his  ambition. 

During  his  residence  in  Princeton  as  an  undergra- 
duate, he  had  been  consigned  more  especially  to  the 
care  of  Mr.  Periam,  who  had  rendered  himself  distin- 
guished in  the  institution  and  his  country,  by  a  profound 


8  LAfe  of  Dr.  Smith. 

acquaintance  with  mathematics  and  natural  philoso- 
phy. Accustomed  to  the  study  of  abstract  sciences, 
Mr.  Periam,  it  appears,  had  not  confined  himself  ex- 
clusively to  the  cultivation  of  the  branches  which  it  was 
his  province  to  teach;  but  had  extended  his  inquiries 
to  metaphysics  also,  and  became  infected  with  the  fan- 
ciful doctrines  of  bishop  Berkeley,  which  consist,  as  is 
generally  known,  in  denying  the  existence  of  a  mate- 
rial universe,  and  converting  every  object  of  the  senses 
into  a  train  of  fugitive  perceptions.  How  this  profes- 
sor, who  had  been  habituated  to  the  hardy  pursuits  of 
mathematical  science  and  the  inductive  philosophy, 
could  ever  have  brought  himself  to  embrace  such  a  vi- 
sionary theory,  a  theory  so  repugnant  to  common  sense, 
and  rather  an  object  of  ridicule  than  of  serious  consi- 
deration, it  is  difficult  to  explain,  unless  it  be  upon  the 
principle,  that  having  been  accustomed  in  those  depart- 
ments of  science  which  he  cultivated,  to  require  the 
most  conclusive  proof  of  every  thing  before  he  as- 
sented to  its  truth,  he  so  far  misconceived  the  subject, 
as  to  imagine  that  he  must  have  arguments  drawn  from 
reason,  to  convince  him  of  the  existence  of  an  exterior 
world,  before  he  would  admit  the  reality  of  it;  and  this 
surely  is  an  evidence  which  nature  would  deny  him,  as 
she  rests  the  proof  of  it  solely  and  entirely  upon  the 
simple  testimony  of  the  senses.  However  this  may 
have  been,  certain  it  is,  that  Mr.  Periam  had  address 
and  ingenuity  enough,  to  infuse  the  principles  of  the 
bishop  of  Cloyne  into  the  mind  of  Smith,  and  he  be- 
gan seriously  to  doubt  whether  there  were  in  the  world 
such  real  existences  as  the  sun,  moon  and  stars,  rivers^ 


Life  of  Dr.  Sinith.  9 

mountains  and  human  beings.  So  sincere  and  zealous 
did  he  become,  at  this  time  in  the  maintenance  of  im- 
materiahsm,  and  so  confident  of  the  sufficiency  of  the 
proofs  by  which  it  is  supported,  that  he  was  ever  ready 
to  enter  the  hsts  in  a  controversy  on  the  subject;  inso- 
much that  his  venerable  father  is  said  to  have  disco- 
vered no  small  share  of  solicitude  and  apprehension, 
lest  his  principles  should  be  vitiated  from  this  source 
with  the  fatal  taint  of  scepticism  and  his  understanding 
be  perverted  by  false  science. 

Mr.  Turgot,  comptroller  general  of  the  finances  of 
France,  under  Louis  the  sixteenth,  we  are  told  by  his 
biographer,  was  in  the  habit  of  saying,  with  that  fond- 
ness for  point  and  paradox,  which  indicated  that  the 
fraternity  of  self-styled  philosophers  who  lived  in  his 
time  in  France,  were  as  depraved  in  their  taste  as  they 
were  unsound  in  their  politics,  impious  in  their  religi- 
ous opinions,  and  addicted  to  a  miserable  jargon  in 
philosophy;  "that  the  man  who  had  never  considered  the 
question  respecting  the  existence  of  an  external  world 
as  a  difficult  subject  and  worthy  of  engaging  our  cu- 
riosity would  make  no  progress  in  metaphysics.'^  Is 
not  this  to  assert,  that  in  order  to  commence  metaphy- 
sicians, we  should  be  affected  with  the  symptoms  of  a 
rising  insanity.^  Surely  from  such  an%uspicious  begin- 
ning we  could  not  reasonably  hope  for  any  thing  better, 
as  the  final  result,  than  confinement  in  a  mad  house. 
Such  idle  and  paradoxical  declarations  are  as  unfound- 
ed in  truth,  as  they  are  disgraceful  to  philosophy,  and 
are  calculated  to  bring  the  noble  science  of  metaphy- 
sics into  utter  disrepute  and  contempt,  by  impressing 

VOL.  I.  c 


10  Life  of  Dr.  Smith. 

upon  the  minds  of  reflecting  men  the  opinion,  that  in 
order  to  be  initiated  into  its  mysteries,  they  must  be 
bereft  of  their  senses. — Would  it  not  be  as  well  found- 
ed in  truth  and  right  reason  to  assert,  that  he  who  does 
not  perceive  a  difficulty  in  the  axioms  of  mathematics 
can  make  no  progress  in  mathematical  science?  There 
is  as  good  reason  for  disputing  the  first  truths  in  ma- 
thematics,  as  there  is  for  disputing  the  first  truths  in 
that  science  which  rests  upon  experience  and  observa- 
tion, and  which  by  a  very  apt  and  beautiful  figure,  has 
been  denominated,  by  Lord  Bacon,  the  interpretation 
of  nature.     And  surely  among  all  those  truths  which 
are  regarded  as  elementary  and  incontrovertible  in  this 
latter  science,  none  has  a  higher  claim  and  more  ve- 
nerable and  prescriptive  right  to  be  considered  as  ele- 
mentary than  the  existence  of  an  external  world.  The 
grounds  upon  which  rest  the  truths  of  mathematical 
and  experimental  science,   are  different  in  kind  but 
equally  solid  and  immoveable;  mathematics  having  its 
foundations   in   intuitive  certainty,  and  experimental 
knowledge  in  what  may  be  aptly  denominated  sensi- 
tive certainty,  or  tne  evidence  of  the  senses.  If,  there- 
fore, it  be  allowed  to  have  been  aproof  of  perspicacity 
and  genius,  as  it  undoubtedly  was,  in  Mr.  Smith  at  his 
early  age,  and  i#\skilled  as  he  must  have  been  in  the 
grounds  of  human  knowledge,  to  perceive  a  real  diffi- 
culty in  proving  by  arguments  derived  from  reason  the 
existence  of' a  material  universe,  or,  in  other  words, 
inferring  by  necessary  consequence  the  real  existence 
of  the  objects  ot  our  perception,  from  our  having  per- 
ceptions of  them;  yet  it  must  be  admitted,  at  the  same 


Life  of  Dr.  Smith.  11 

time,  that  the  knowledge  of  that  man  must  be  extreme- 
ly hmited  in  the  science  of  the  human  ujind,  who  does 
not  readily  perceive  the  method  by  which  he  can  ex- 
tricate himself  from  that  difficulty,  and  arrive  at  un- 
doubted certainty  from  the  testimony  of  the  senses  of 
the  real  existence,  in  renim  natura,  of  external  objects. 
Accordingly,  Mr.  Smith,  although  captivated,  at  first, 
by  the  specious  fallacies  of  the  bishop  of  Cloyne,  had 
too  much  sober  sense  and  penetration  to  be  long  held 
in  bondage  by  the  silken  chains  of  such  a  fantastic 
theory.  Dr.  Witherspoon  arrived  from  Scotland,  and 
bringing  with  him,  we  are  told,  the  recently  broached 
principles  of  Reid,  Oswald  and  Beattie,  furnished  him 
with  a  clue  by  which  he  was  conducted  out  of  the  dark 
labyrinth  into  which  he  had  been  betrayed  by  bishop 
Berkeley  and  his  disciple,  professor  Periam.  From  the 
cloudy  speculations  of  immaterialism,  he  was  now 
brought  back  to  the  clear  light  of  common  sense.  Na- 
ture was  again  reinstated  in  her  rights,  and  the  exter- 
nal world,  which  had  been  banished  for  a  while,  re- 
turned and  resumed  its  place  in  creation.  This  pro- 
gress in  the  understanding  and  opinions  of  Mr.  Smith 
will  appear  natural,  when  it  is  recollected  that  the  pow- 
ers of  his  mind  were  as  yet  immature,  that  he  was  mis- 
led by  the  guidance  of  a  revered  instructor,  and  that 
the  utmost  maturity  of  the  intellectual  powers  is,  in  all 
cases,  necessary  to  enable  us  to  detect  the  errors  and 
comprehend  the  abstruse  subjects  of  metaphysical 
science.  In  an  understanding  ingenious  and  inquisi- 
tive, as  was  his,  and  prone  to  the  pursuits  of  philoso- 
phy, the  first  tendencies,  perhaps,  uniformly  are  to  ex- 


IS  Life  of  Dr.  Smith. 

pect  by  argument  to  prove  every  thing,  forgetting  that 
in  all  the  branches  of  human  knowledge  there  are  some 
principles  and  maxims  that  must  be  taken  for  granted, 
and  upon  which  as  a  foundation  we  must  erect  our 
various  superstructures,  otherwise,  as  Aristotle  has  long 
since  remarked,  we  must  suppose  the  human  mind  ca- 
pable of  an  indefinite  advancement  in  the  pursuit  of 
elementary  truths.  If  mankind  had  refused  to  cultivate 
the  science  of  mathematics  until  they  had  proved  the 
truth  of  its  axioms  and  definitions  by  arguments  drawn 
from  reason,  that  interesting  branch  of  human  know- 
ledge had  remained  until  this  time,  barren  and  uncul- 
tivated.    In  like  manner  if  we  refuse  our  assent  to  the 
truths  which  have  been  established  in  the  experimen- 
tal sciences,  under  which  head  are  included  the  science 
of  mind  and  that  of  matter,  until  we  have  demonstra- 
ted by  strict  ratiocination  the  existence  of  an  external 
world,  we  shall  forever  remain  involved  in  doubt  and 
uncertainty. — After  the  pubHcation  of  the  incompara- 
ble treatise  of  Mr.  Locke  upon  human  understandmg, 
in  which,  with  wonderful  accuracy,  he  has  traced  the 
progress  of  the  mind  in  the  acquisition  of  knowledge 
from  its  simplest  perceptions  to  its  sublimest  combina- 
tions, while,  at  the  same  time,  with  the  most  masterly 
skill  and  address  he  has  ascertained  and  settled  the 
grounds  of  all  human  knowledge,  or  the  foundations 
upon  which  rest  all  kinds  of  truth  and  certainty,  it 
would  seem  strange,  indeed,  that  any  persons  could  be 
found  professing  an  acquaintance  with  his  system,  who 
could  allow  themselves  to  be  misled  by  the  philosophi- 
cal reveries  of  a  Berkeley  or  a  Hume.     Such  persons 


Ufe  of  Dr.  Smith.  IS 

cannot  have  studied  and  understood  the  writings  of  Mr. 
Locke.  They  must  be  wanting  either  in  the  capacity 
or  the  pains  to  enter  into  his  views  or  thor6ughly  to 
comprehend  his  meaning.  Never  could  any  refutation 
of  errors  be  more  complete  and  satisfactory,  than  that 
which  may  be  drawn  from  the  works  of  this  illustrious 
metaphysician,  of  the  principles  of  Berkeley  and  Hume. 
The  Scotish  metaphysicians  above  mentioned,  are  en- 
titled to  their  share  of  praise,  inasmuch  as  they  have 
drawn  the  attention  of  the  pubHc  to  a  subject  which, 
important  as  it  is,  is  by  no  means  alluring,  as  they  ap- 
pear also  to  have  been  inspired  with  becoming  senti- 
ments of  indignation  and  abhorrence  of  that  abomina- 
ble scepticism  and  atheism,  introduced  by  .Mr.  Hume, 
and  to  have  set  themselves  with  so  much  zeal  in  oppo- 
sition to  them.  Had  they  limited  their  pretensions  to 
the  humble  sphere  of  becoming  the  expounders  of  the 
doctrines  of  Mr.  Locke,  and  the  preceding  philoso- 
phers, and  making  a  skilful  application  of  them  to  the 
discomfiture  and  overthrow  of  scepticism,  their  merit, 
as  far  as  it  extended,  would  have  been  acknowledged, 
and  their  claims  acquiesced  in  by  all  succeeding  ages. 
But  when  we  find  them  assume  to  themselves  a  credit 
to  which  they  are  not  entitled,  laying  claim  to  disco- 
veries, of  which  Mr.  Locke  was  the  author,  arrogating 
to  themselves  the  merit  of  having  been  the  first  who  ap- 
plied the  true  method  of  philosophising  prescribed  by 
lord  Bacon  to  the  science  of  mind,  when,  in  this  very 
circumstance,  consisted  the  discriminating  merit  of  the 
great  English  metaphysician;  accusing  all  the  philoso- 
phers, who  preceded  them,  of  being  duped  by  hypothe 


14  lAfe  of  Dr.  Smith. 

ses,  and  hoodwinked  in  their  pursuit  of  truth,  by  an 
ideal  and  fanciful  theory,  unfounded  in  nature,  and  de- 
structive to  common  sense;  when  we  see  them  main- 
taining that  the  scepticism  of  Berkeley  and  intellectu- 
al fooleries  of  Hume,  were  legitimate  inferences  from 
the  principles  of  that  sublime  philosophy,  whose  foun- 
dation was  laid  by  the  Stagyrite,  and  whose  structure 
was  carried  on  and  completed  by  Des  Cartes,  Malle- 
branche,  and  above  all,  Mr.  Locke,  who  may  empha- 
tically be  styled  the  great  metaphysician  of  human  na- 
ture; we  crave  leave  to  enter  our  protest  against  the 
admission  of  such  magnificent  pretensions,  and  our 
most  decided  reprehension  of  such  egregious  misstate- 
ments. All  that  has  been  done  in  the  science  of  meta- 
physics, that  is  of  any  importance  to  the  interests  of 
truth  and  mankind,  has  been  accomplished  by  Locke, 
Butler,  Clarke  and  the  Philosophers  who  preceded 
them.  Not  a  single  doctrine  has  been  taught,  or  a  sin- 
gle discovery  made  in  this  branch  of  science,  which  is 
not  to  be  found  in  their  writings.  It  was  the  precise 
purpose  of  Mr.  Locke,  and  a  purpose  which  he  fully 
accomplished,  to  apply  the  method  of  investigation  re- 
commended by  Bacon  to  the  science  of  mind,  as  New- 
ton applied  it  to  matter,  and  with  equal  justice  and 
force  he  might  have  declared  with  Newton,  hypotheses 
non  Jingo.  His  theory  is  founded  in  nature,  and  in  its 
great  outlines,  or  fundamental  principles,  will  remain 
entire  as  long  as  the  human  mind  shall  retain  its  pre- 
sent properties,  be  governed  by  the  same  laws,  and  ex- 
hibit the  same  phainomena.  Dr.  Reid,  indeed,  through- 
out his  voluminous  works  indulges  himself  very  freely 


Life  of  Vr.  Smith,  15 

in  strictures  upon  the  principles  of  Mr.  Locke. — In 
more  than  half  the  instances  in  which  he  supposes  him- 
self combating  his  errors,  he  is,  in  truth,  maintaining 
his  doctrines,  and  fighting  with  phantoms  of  his  own 
creation ;  and  wherever  he  has  departed  from  the  track 
marked  out  by  the  illustrious  Englishman,  he  has  wan- 
dered from  the  truth.     The  very  ideal  theory  itself,  the 
grand  heresy  of  which  he  accuses  all  the  philosophers, 
from  Plato  to  Mr.  Hume,  and  out  of  which,  as  a  foun- 
tain, he  supposes  their  errors  to  have  flowed,  was  un- 
known to  the  system  of  Aristotle,  Des  Cartes  and 
Locke,   although   it  undoubtedly    tinctures  the   doc- 
trines of  father  Mallebranche.  It  appears  to  have  been 
the  offspring  of  the  schoolmen,  those  miserable  inter- 
preters and  egregious  falsifiers  of  the  opinions  of  Aris- 
totle, whose  crude  brains  were  sufficiently  productive 
of  metaphysical  monsters;  and  although  for  sometime 
after  the  revival  of  learning,  while  the  school  philosophy 
remained  in  vogue,  the  phraseology  prevalent  during 
its  continuance  was  still  used  in  scientific  works,  yet 
no  one  has  more  completely  thrown  off  the  trammels 
of  that  system  than  Mr.  Locke  or  more  heartily  des- 
pised its  verbal  contests  and  idle  gibberish. 

It  is  a  little  singular  that  Dr.  Reid  should  have  so 
frequently  repeated  as  an  accusation  against  Mr.  Locke 
what  that  writer  blamed  Mallebranche  for  having  at- 
tempted, that  is,  to  explain  the  manner  of  perception. 
— To  explain  the  manner  of  our  perceiving  external 
objects,  it  is  asserted,  all  the  philosophers  agreed  in 
having  recourse  to  the  ideal  theory;  but  we  venture  to 
'asser.t  that  when  this  matter  shall  have  been  thorough- 


IQ  Life  of  Dr.  Smith. 

ly  sifted,  it  will  be  found  to  have  been  falsely  ascribed 
to  the  best  of  them,  and  as  to  Mr.  Locke,  he  repeated- 
ly and  unequivocally  disclaims  all  attempts  to  explain 
the  manner  of  perception. 

But  to  proceed  from  this  short  digression,  with  our 
account  of  the  hfe  and  writings  of  the  subject  of  these 
memoirs. — After  taking  his  first  degree  in  the  arts,  Mr. 
Smith  returned  to  his  father's  family. — Here  we  find 
him  perfecting  his  knowledge  of  the  Latin  and  Greek 
classics  by  assisting  his  father  in  his  school,  and  at  the 
same  time  extending  his  acquaintance  with  science  and 
literature  by  the  perusal  of  the  best  writers  with  which 
the  library  of  the  family  supplied  him.     The  works  of 
Pope,  Swift  and  Addison,  which  were  now  read  with 
avidity,  served  to  form  his  taste  upon  the  best  models 
and  imbue  his  mind  with  the  principles  of  polite  lite- 
rature, while  those  of  Locke,  Butler,  Warburton  and 
Edwards  exercised  and  strengthened  the  hardier  pow- 
ers of  the  understanding,  and  introduced  him  to  an 
acquaintance  with  the  more  abstruse  subjects  of' me- 
taphysics and  divinity. — To  the  circumstance  of  his 
having  thus  accidentally  become  familiarized  to  excel- 
lent models  of  writings  may,  in  'all  probability,  be  as- 
cribed that  delicacy  and  correctness  of  taste  which  are 
perceptible  in  all  his  productions.     In  cultivating  the 
more  elegant  fields  of  the  Belles-Lettres,  he  seems, 
however,  to  have  taken  the  greatest  pleasure,  and  to 
this  species  of  exertion,  his  intellectual  powers  appear 
to  have  been  best  adapted  by  nature.     Inspired  by  the 
natural  ardour  of  youth  and  wrought  up  to  enthusiasm, 
he  occasionally,  at  this  period,  attempted  to  give  v.eut  to 


Life  ofDw  Smith.  17 

his  feelings  in  poetic  effusions,  and  a  sonnet,  an  ode,  or 
an  eclogue  was  the  result.  But  discovering  in  himself 
no  native  impulse  prompting  to  such  pursuits  or  pro- 
mising much  success  from  tendencies  of  this  nature,  he 
soon  relinquished  all  efforts  to  cultivate  the  muses  and 
directed  his  attention  to  objects  more  suited  to  his  ge- 
nius. 

During  his  continuance  at  Princeton  as  a  student, 
his  talents  and  assiduity  had  not  passed  unnoticed  by 
that  able  divine  and  nice  observer  of  men  and  things, 
Dr.  Witherspoon;  and  accordingly,  a  vacancy  occur- 
ring in  the  offices  of  the  college,  Mr.  Smith  received 
from  him  a  pressing  invitation  to  return  to  the  institu- 
tion with  the  view,  as  expressed  in  the  letter  written 
on  the  occasion,  of  taking  under  his  immediate  charge, 
the  classical  studies  of  the  college,  while  he  should 
assist  also  in  cultivating  among  the  students  a  taste  for 
the  Belles-Lettres.  In  this  station  he  spent  the  two 
next  years  of  his  life,  performing,  with  acknowledged 
ability,  the  duties  of  his  office  in  the  institution,  and  at 
the  same  time  prosecuting  his  theological  studies,  as  he 
had  now  determined,  as  well  from  the  dictates  of  his 
understanding  as  the  impulse  of  his  feelings,  to  devote 
himself  to  the  church.  As  soon  as  he  had  finished  the 
usual  course  of  reading  prescribed  to  students  of  di- 
vinity, he  left  Princeton,  and  was  licensed  to  preach  the 
gospel  by  the  presbytery  of  New  Castle  in  Pennsylvania. 
Having  impaired  his  health  by  his  application  to  his 
studies,  and  labouring  for  some  time  under  the  attacks 
of  an  intermittent  fever  which  long  held  his  life  in  sus- 
pense, he  determined  in  order  to  restore  his  health  and 

VOL.  I.  D 


l^  Life  of  Dr.  Smith. 

at  the  same  time,  contribute  to  the  utmost  of  his 
power,  towards  the  advancement  of  that  sacred  cause, 
in  whose  interests  he  was  now  enlisted,  to  spend  some 
time,  before  his  settlement  in  any  parish,  in  voluntarily 
officiating  as  a  missionary  in  the  western  counties  of 
Virginia.  He  found,  upon  his  arrival  in  this  country, 
a  people  lately  removed  from  Ireland,  among  whom 
were  many  pious  and  intelligent  persons,  attached  to 
the  principles  of  the  presbyterian  church,  who  received 
him  with  Irish  hospitality,  and  gave  that  warm  and 
cordial  encouragement  to  him  in  his  labours  which  a 
pious  people  scarcely  ever  fail  to  bestow  upon  a  worthy 
clergyman.  Here  he  spent  some  time  during  two  suc- 
cessive missionary  tours  performed  in  the  same  year, 
in  giving  catechetical  instruction  to  the  young,  in  preach- 
ing the  gospel  at  every  opportunity,  and  in  grounding 
the  people  in  the  principles  of  the  christian  faith.  In 
all  these  labours  he  was  eminently  successful  in  the 
cause  of  his  Divine  master.  As  a  preacher  or  pulpit 
orator  he  was  universally  regarded  by  them  with  the 
highest  admiration.  There  were  many  circumstances 
in  the  church  of  Virginia,  at  this  time,  that  prepared 
the  way  for  his  favourable  reception,  facilitated  his 
success  in  the  ministry,  and  soon  enabled  him  to  rear 
and  establish  for  himself  the  most  distinguished  repu- 
tation as  a  preacher.  The  people  of  Virginia  gene- 
rally belonged  to  the  established  church  of  England. 
Whether  it  was  owing  to  culpable  neglect  and  inatten- 
tion on  the  part  of  the  English  bishops  in  sending  out 
clergymen  to  supply  the  parishes  in  this  colony,  or  to 
the  circumstance  that  they  were  too  much  occupied  at 


Life  of  Dr.  Smith.  li> 

home  with  their  numerous  and  arduous  duties  to  be 
able  to  pay  that  attention  to  an  affair  of  this  kind, 
which  their  own  sense  of  duty  as  well  as  interest 
required;  it  is  certain,  that  the  clergy  who  were  des- 
patched from  England  and  placed  in  possession  of  the 
hvings  in  this  state,  were,  in  too  many  instances,  most 
egregiously  defective  in  all  those  moral  qualifications 
which  would  have  fitted  them  to  become  faithful  pas- 
tors  and  spiritual  teachers  and  guides  to  their  flocks. 
The  deficiences  and  even  gross  immoralities  of  many 
of  them,  were  flagrant  and  notorious.  Violent  contests 
often  arose  between  the  incumbents  and  their  parish- 
ioners, which  were  maintained  with  equal  bitterness 
and  perseverance  on  both  sides,  and  which  sprang  out 
of  the  disgust  of  the  people  at  a  ministry  whose  hves 
were  at  variance  with  their  doctrines,  and  during  the 
controversies  maintained  about  the  temporalities  of  the 
church,  its  spiritual  concerns  were  entirely  disregard- 
ed or  forgotten.  Even  among  those  of  the  clergy  who 
were  best  fitted  from  their  piety,  talents  and  learning 
to  become  able  shepherds  of  the  flock  of  Christ,  the 
style  of  preaching  which  prevailed,  was  by  no  means 
alluring  to  the  great  body  of  the  people.  That  cold  and 
didactic  manner  which,  in  order  to  avoid  the  excesses 
of  puritanism,  had  become  fashionable  in  England, 
from  the  time  of  Charles  the  second,  however  suited 
it  may  have  been  to  congregations  brought  up  in  the 
immediate  vicinity  of  a  polished  capital,  enjoying  the 
advantages  of  a  finished  education  and  the  enlightened 
intercourse  of  a  court,  and  who,  of  consequence,  would 
be  more  under  the  influence  of  their  understandings 
and  less  under  that  of  their  feelings,  was  little  suited  to 


20  Life  of  Dr.  Smith. 

affect  and  interest  the  simple  and  untutored  inhabitants 
of  the  country.  This  was  the  style  of  preaching  ge- 
nerally prevalent  among  the  clergy  of  the  church  of 
England  at  this  time  in  Virginia.  It  was  oftentimes, 
indeed,  sensible,  judicious  and  even  profound,  but  al- 
together without  power  to  influence  the  will  or  reach 
and  affect  the  heart.  On  the  other  hand,  the  mode  of 
preaching  which  prevailed  among  the  other  denomina- 
tions of  christians,  who  did  not  belong  to  the  establish- 
ed church,  while  it  was  more  passionate,  earnest  and 
vehement,  and  of  course  more  attractive  to  the  people, 
went  equally  into  the  opposite  and  worse  extreme.  As 
the  preachers  were,  for  the  most  part,  uneducated  but 
pious  men,  their  pulpit  addresses  too  frequently  dege- 
nerated into  mere  empty  declamation  and  vapoury  effu- 
sions, which  wanting  the  v,^eight  of  sound  sense  and 
solid  learning  to  recommend  them,  produced  little  ef- 
fect that  was  permanent  and  were  offensive  to  the  in- 
telligent and  reflecting  part  of  the  community.  In  this 
state  of  things,  it  is  little  to  be  wondered  at,  if  Mr. 
Smith  soon  gained  among  them  the  highest  reputation 
as  a  pulpit  orator,  and  awoke  no  common  interest  in  his 
favour.  Having  a  mind  already  imbued  with  elegant 
literature  and  a  taste  improved  by  familiarity  with  the 
finest  models  of  writing  in  the  Latin,  Greek,  English 
and  French  languages,  and  withal  a  genius  that  kind- 
led into  enthusiasm  at  the  success  of  those  celebrated 
preachers,  whose  praises  and  whose  triumphs  of  elo- 
quence he  had  seen  recorded  in  ecclesiastical  history, 
and  above  all  a  heart  deeply  touched  and  interested 
with  the  great  truths  which  it  was  his  province  to  pro- 


Life  of  Ih\  Smith.  21 

claim;  the  doctrines  of  the  gospel  were  presented  to  his 
hearers  in  a  more  attractive  and  imposing  form  than  they 
ever  before  had  been  able  to  conceive.  In  Mr.  Smith 
they  found  solid  sense  and  deep  learning  recommend- 
ing by  their  embellishments  the  simple  and  sublime 
truths  of  religion,  and  the  influence  of  the  whole  aug- 
mented by  all  the  graces  of  style,  composition  and  de- 
livery. The  result  was  such  as  might  have  been  an- 
ticipated. The  people  flocked  from  all  quarters  to  lis- 
ten to  the  popular  missionary.  On  the  Sundays  in  which 
it  was  known  that  he  was  to  preach,  the  churches 
within  several  miles  of  the  one  in  which  he  was  to  offi- 
ciate were  deserted,  and  the  several  denominations  for- 
getting in  the  pleasure  which  they  felt  those  differences 
of  opinions  and  forms  of  worship  by  which  they  were 
separated  from  each  other,  assembled  in  the  same  place, 
attracted  by  the  charm  of  his  fervid  and  impressive 
eloquence.  So  strong  at  length,  did  the  public  senti- 
ment in  his  favour  become,  that  some  gentlemen  of 
wealth  and  influence,  who  had  long  felt  the  want  of  a 
seminary  of  learning  for  the  education  of  their  sons, 
determined  to  avail  themselves  of  this  favourable  op- 
portunity of  accomplishing  so  important  an  object,  and 
immediately  set  forward  a  subscription  for  the  purpose. 
His  popularity  and  weight  of  character  among  them, 
were  now  so  great,  that  fifty  thousand  dollars  were 
soon  subscribed  for  laying  the  foundations  of  a  college, 
of  which  it  was  contemplated  that  he  should  become 
the  president.  No  sooner  was  the  plan  projected  and 
the  subscription  list  filled  up,  than  those  ardent  and 
enterprising  men  commenced  the  erection  of  the  build- 


22  Life  of  Dr.  Smith. 

ings  of  that  seminary  which  was  afterwards  chartered 
by  the  legislature,  and  in  compliment  to  those  distin- 
guished patriots  of  England,  John  Hampden  and  Al- 
gernon Sidney,  denominated  Hampden-Sidney  college. 
Having  now  completed  his  missionary  tour  through 
Virginia,  thus  voluntarily  undertaken,  during  the  time 
in  which  the  buildings  were  erecting  for  the  contem- 
plated institution,  he  returned  to  the  northern  states, 
and  connected  himself  to  his  venerable  president  and 
preceptor  by  ties  even  more  intimate  and  interesting 
than  those  which  subsist  between  the  professor  and  pu- 
pil, by  marrying  his  eldest  daughter,  a  lady  of  great 
gentleness  of  disposition  and  amiable  manners.     Soon 
after  this  event  he  returned  to  Virginia,  to  take  upon 
hitn  the  two-fold  charge  of  principal  of  the  seminary  and 
pastor  of  the  church.     In  both  these  capacities  he  ac- 
quitted himself  with  the  greatest  talents  and  address, 
and  fulfilled  to  those  gentlemen  who  had  reposed  con- 
fidence in  him,  their  most  sanguine  expectations.    His 
reputation  both  as  a  pious  and  learned  Divine,  and  an 
eloquent  and  successful  preacher  every  day  increased, 
and  the  attachment  of  his  flock,  and  the  students  of 
the  college  to  his  person,  was  sincere  and  unabated 
during  the  whole  time  of  his  residence  among  them. 
The  frequency  and  vehemence  of  his  mode  of  preach- 
ing, however,  added  to  his  arduous  duties  in  the  semi- 
nary, were  too  trying  for  a  constitution  which,  although 
naturally  sound,  was  not  robust,  and  in  the  course  of 
three  or  four  years,  his  health  was  greatly  impaired  and 
his  expectoration  immediately  succeeding  the  pubhc 
exercises  of  the  church,  became  visibly  tinctured  with 


Life  of  Dr.  Smith.  23 

blood.  This  appearance  did  not  at  first  abate  his  zeal 
or  restrain  his  exertions,  but  at  length  he  was  found  to 
discharge  blood  in  considerable  quantities  from  his 
breast,  and  it  became  necessary,  that,  for  a  time,  he 
should  desist  from  repeating  this  painful  and  dangerous 
experiment  upon  his  lungs.  In  order  to  recruit  his 
strength  and  recover  his  health,  it  was  thought  advisa- 
ble by  his  friends  that  he  should  retire  for  a  season  to 
a  watering-place  among  the  western  mountains  of  Vir- 
ginia, known  by  the  name  of  the  Sweet-Springs,  which 
was  just  beginning  to  be  held  in  great  repute  for  the 
salubrious  qualities  of  its  waters.  On  his  way  to  these 
springs  an  incident  occurred  to  him  which  would  not 
be  worthy  of  an  insertion  here,  except  as  it  exhibits 
strongly  to  view  the  tenderness  of  that  connection 
which  subsists  between  a  good  pastor  and  his  flock, 
and  may  serve  as  an  encouragement  to  the  clergy  to 
the  cultivation  of  that  species  of  intercourse  with  the 
members  of  their  communion  which  may  lead  to  the 
formation  of  attachments  so  honourable  to  both  parties. 
During  his  journey  to  the  springs,  he  was  one  evening 
passing  by  a  dairy  yard,  where  an  elderly  lady,  the  wife 
of  colonel  Christian,  so  famous  in  our  Indian  wars,  was 
standing  among  her  servants  and  cattle.  As  soon  as 
she  saw  him,  she  instantly  stepped  forward,  asking 
pardon  for  her  intrusion,  and  begged  to  know  if  he  was 
in  any  way  related  to  that  most  worthy  of  all  men,  as 
she  said,  Mr.  Samuel  Blair,  his  maternal  uncle.  I  con- 
sider him,  she  continued,  as  my  spiritual  Father.  Many, 
many  years  ago,  no  man  was  more  dear  to  me:  and  on 
seeing  you,  as  yoji  were  passing,  so  strong  a  resem- 


'U  Life  of  Dr.  Smith. 

blance  of  his  countenance  struck  me,  that  I  could  not 
resist  the  impulse,  which  induced  me  to  make  this  ab- 
rupt inquiry,  however  improbable  or  almost  impossible 
it  may  seem,  to  see  any  one  of  Mr.  Blair's  relations  in 
these  remote  ends  of  the  earth.  Mr.  Smith  informed 
her  that  she  was  not  deceived  in  the  resemblance  she 
had  traced,  for  that  he  was  a  near  relation  of  Mr.  Blair, 
and  then  stated  the  connection  that  subsisted  between 
them.  *  Forgive  me,  my  dear  sir,'  she  continued,  with 
great  earnestness,  '  if  my  affection  for  that  good  man 
constrain  me  to  urge  you  to  pass  this  night,  as  the  day 
is  far  spent,  with  my  family.  I  cannot  help  hoping  to 
meet  with  his  spirit  in  his  perfect  image.  And  let  me 
have  reason  to  bless  my  God  and  Saviour  for  this  un- 
expected interview  which  strikes  my  mind  as  a  special 
act  of  his  gracious  providence  designed  for  the  conso- 
lation of  one  of  the  most  unworthy  of  his  servants!'  En- 
viable tribute  of  regard  and  attachment!  Whatever  may 
be  the  difficulties,  and  discouragements  of  the  ministry, 
such  a  testimony  of  respect  and  affection  from  one 
pious  woman,  an  affection  too  springing  out  of  so  pure 
and  sacred  a  fountain,  amply  compensates  the  pastor 
for  a  life  of  toil.  When  placed  in  competition  with  a 
sacred  veneration  of  this  kind  for  the  memory  of  a  good 
clergyman,  all  the  glory  of  the  conqueror  and  tiie  loud 
applause  of  the  thoughtless  multitude,  are  but  as  the 
dust  of  the  balance!  It  embalms  his  memory,  conse- 
crates his  ashes,  and  without  producing  the  effects  sup- 
posed to  result  from  his  canonization,  communicates  to 
him  its  happiest  rewards  by  enhancing  his  enjoyment 
in  a  future  state  of  existence. 


Life  of  Dr.  Smith.  25 

After  remaining  a  few  weeks  at  the  springs  above 
mentioned,  Mr.  Smith  found  the  effusion  of  blood  from 
his  lungs  to  cease,  and  the  slow  fever  which  attended  it 
disappear.  On  his  return  to  his  family  with  recovered 
health,  new  prospects  opened  to  him  in  life  and  the  way 
had  been  paved  for  his  entrance  upon  a  theatre  in  which 
the  sphere  of  his  usefulness  would  be  extended,  and 
those  extraordinary  powers  he  possessed  be  more  con- 
spicuously displayed.  Through  the  influence  of  Dr. 
Witherspoon,  who  learned  more  justly  to  estimate  the 
talents  of  Mr.  Smith  in  proportion  to  the  intimacy  of 
his  connection  with  him,  a  vacancy  occurring  in  the 
higher  offices  of  the  faculty  of  Princeton  college,  he 
was  invited  to  return  to  the  seat  of  his  former  studies, 
and  appointed  professor  of  moral  philosophy,  as  it  was 
known  that  this  was  his  favourite  branch  of  science, 
and  one  which  he  had  cultivated  with  the  greatest 
diligence  and  success.  In  the  year  1779,  therefoie, 
and  ^yth  of  his  age,  he  received  this  appointment,  so 
well  suited  to  his  v^ishes,  and  which  introduced  him 
into  that  field  of  exertion  in  which  he  was  eminently 
qualified  to  excel.  Leaving  his  brother,  the  Rev.  John 
Smith  in  whom  he  reposed  entire  confidence,  and  who 
was  worthy  of  it,  to  take  charge  of  the  infant  seminary 
reared  under  his  care  in  Virginia,  he  removed  to 
Princeton,  the  place  that  was  to  become  the  scene  of 
his  future  labours. 

Upon  his  arrival  at  Princeton  to  enter  upon  the  duties 
of  his  new  appointment,  the  college  was  in  a  state  of 
ruin.  The  war  which  had  raged  for  some  years  before 
between  the  colonies  and  the  mother  country,  had  driven 

VOL.   I.  E 


^6  Life  of  Dr.  Smith. 

the  president  of  the  mstitution  from  the  state  of  New 
Jersey,  dispersed  the  students  and  reduced  the  buildings 
to  a  state  of  complete  dilapidation.  The  whole  inte- 
rior of  that  noble  edifice  and  of  the  church  attached  to 
it,  had  been  torn  out  and  destroyed  by  the  British  and 
American  forces,  who  successively  occupied  it  as  bar- 
racks for  the  soldiery,  during  their  passing  and  repas- 
sing through  the  state  of  New  Jersey.  The  roof  had 
been  made  a  field  of  sport  for  idle  soldiers  and  vaga- 
bond boys  from  the  village,  until  its  use  as  a  defence 
against  the  injuries  of  the  weather  was  almost  destroy- 
ed. Its  windows  and  doors  were  all  shattered,  and 
many  of  them  burnt,  the  plaistering  had  been  wanton- 
ly punched  through  with  bayonets,  and  the  lathing  torn 
off  for  the  purpose  of  kindling  their  fires,  and  the  floors 
had  been  so  generally  cut  by  hatchets  and  axes,  as  to 
be  utterly  unfit  for  use.  Added  to  this  unpromising 
state  of  the  building  and  the  general  dispersion  of  the 
students,  were  the  difficulties  which  arose  from  the  in- 
jury sustained  by  the  funds  of  the  institution  from  the 
financial  embarrassments  of  the  nation,  and  the  gene- 
ral distress  of  the  times.  As  the  seat  of  the  war  had 
now,  however,  been  transferred  from  the  north  to  the 
south,  and  tlie  nation,  shaking  off  its  despondency,  be- 
gan to  look  with  confidence  to  the  final  establishment  of 
its  independence,  Dr.  Witherspoon,  determined  to  avail 
himself  of  this  favoui'able  opportunity  to  revive  the  in- 
stitution. Mr.  Smith,  in  whose  talents  and  address  he 
had  now  learned  to  place  unlimited  confidence,  was 
fixed  upon,  as  the  person  to  assist  him  in  this  under- 
taking.   Accordingly  Mr.  Smith  was  commissioned  at 


Life  of  Dr.  Smith.  21 

once  to  attend  to  the  repairs  of  the  building,  and  in  con- 
nection with  the  other  teachers  to  superintend  the  in- 
struction of  the  small  classes  that  remained.  And  with 
so  much  capacity,  diligence  and  zeal  did  he  devote  him- 
self to  the  interests  of  the  seminary,  that  in  a  short  time 
the  building  was  put  into  a  condition  to  receive  the  pu- 
pils who  were  beginning  to  assemble,  and  the  usual 
system  of  instruction  set  into  operation.  On  this  oc- 
casion, that  natural  generosity,  disinterestedness  and 
total  disregard  of  pecuniary  advantages,  for  which  Mr. 
Smith  was  distinguished,  were  strikingly  displayed. 
The  funds  of  the  college,  from  the  causes  belbre  al- 
luded to,  being  insufficient  to  defray  the  expense  of 
erecting  the  buildings,  and  at  the  same  time  contribut- 
ing to  the  maintenance  of  the  professors,  he,  with  un- 
usual liberality,  devoted  to  these  purposes  considerable 
sums  of  money  which  he  received  from  Virginia,  ac- 
cruing to  him  li'om  the  sale  of  some  lands  which  he 
possessed  in  that  state,  and  for  which  disinterested  sa- 
crifice of  his  own  personal  interests  to  those  of  the  se- 
minary, he  never  afterwards  received  any  adequate  re- 
muneration. 

In  efforts  of  this  nature  commenced  the  labours  of 
Mr.  Smith  in  one  of  the  higher  offices  of  the  college,  in 
discharging  the  duties  of  which,  together  with  what 
was  subsequently  done  by  him,  he  performed  a  part 
lor  that  institution,  for  which  she  can  never  feel  her- 
self too  deeply  indebted  to  him.  For  a  considerable 
portion  of  time  too,  it  is  to  be  remarked,  that  he  had 
to  execute  the  duties  of  his  office  under  circumstances 
of  pecuhar  disadvantage  and  delicacy.  The  great  in- 
terests of  the  American  nation  which  were  at  this  time 


28  Life  of  Dr.  Smith. 

pending,  requiring  the  collective  wisdom  of  her  citizens 
to  be  brought  into  action  for  her  welfare,  Dr.  Wither- 
spoon,  whose  integrity,  capacity  and  attachment  to  the 
cause  of  patriotism  had  been  sufficiently  evinced  dur- 
ing the  war,  was  chosen  by  the  state  of  New  Jersey  to 
represent  herein  congress.  For  several  years  he  con- 
tinued to  perform  his  duty  in  congress  while  he  still 
held  the  presidency  of  the  college,  and  during  the  time 
of  his  absence  from  the  institution,  the  whole  weight  of 
his  cares  fell  upon  Mr.  Smith,  who  was  now  placed 
in  the  very  delicate  situation  of  one  who  had  to  exert 
a  vigilance  and  exercise  an  authority  at  all  times  of- 
fensive to  the  governed  and  reluctantly  submitted  to, 
without  being  invested  with  the  dignity  which  com- 
mands respect  and  renders  acquiescence  and  obedi- 
ence easy.  This  circumstance  oftentimes  rendered 
the  performance  of  his  duties  in  the  highest  degree  irk- 
some. It  must  have  been  peculiarly  painful  to  him  to 
impose  the  restraints  and  inflict  the  censures,  as  well 
as  exert  that  constant  vigilance  necessary  in  the  go- 
vernment of  a  large  number  of  youth,  in  a  subordinate 
station,  when  the  idea  prevails  among  them  that  there 
is  a  superior,  although  he  seldom  interferes,  who  is  an 
ultimate  source  of  lenity  and  indulgence.  For  young 
men  are  too  apt  to  measure  that  indulgence  by  their 
own  wishes  rather  than  by  the  standard  of  reason  and 
the  laws.  Nothing,  however,  could  overcome  the  firm- 
ness and  perseverance  of  Mr.  Smith.  He  had  thus  far 
been  the  chief  instrument  in  reviving  the  seminary,  and 
he  was  resolved  to  persist  through  all  difficulties  and 
discouragements  to  the  accomplishment  of  his  object. 
The  superiority  of  his  talents  and  the  high  respect 


Life  of  Dr.  Smith.  29 

which  the  students  could  not  fail  to  entertain  for  him, 
enabled  him  to  surmount  all  obstructions,  linder  his 
care,  supported  by  the  character  and  influence  of  Dr. 
Witherspoon,  the  college  was  rapidly  advancing  to  pros- 
perity, when  an  event  occurred  which  had  well  nigh 
deprived  him  of  life,  and  the  institution  and  the  coun- 
try of  his  future  usefulness  and  eminence.  So  great 
was  his  activity  and  devotedness  to  duty,  that  besides 
his  labours  as  an  instructor,  he  had  been  in  the  habit 
of  officiating  also  as  preacher  to  the  students. — These 
exertions,  being  above  his  strength  and  unsuited  to  the 
natural  delicacy  of  his  constitution,  occasioned  a  recur- 
rence of  the  sjmptoms  of  his  former  complaint.  One 
evening  in  the  beginning  of  November,  1782,  the  blood 
burst  forth  apparently  from  the  same  part  of  the  thorax, 
or  upper  region  of  the  breast,  from  w^hich  it  had  for- 
merly oozed  in  smaller  quantities,  but  now  with  great- 
ly increased  violence.  It  resembled  the  spring  of  the 
blood  from  a  vein  or  minute  artery  which  had  been 
punctured  by  the  lancet.  The  first  flow  of  this  alarm- 
ing rupture,  for  the  blood  spouted  to  a  distance  from 
his  mouth,  was  checked  in  a  short  time  by  bleeding  in 
the  arm  and  feet,  to  fainting.  The  hemorrhage,  how- 
ever, returned  the  next  evening  about  three  quar- 
ters of  an  hour  later  than  the  evening  preceding,  and 
was  again  restrained  by  a  still  more  free  use  of  the  lan- 
cet. Evening  after  evening  the  same  scene  returned, 
only  at  each  successive  recurrence  being  somewhat  later 
than  on  the  preceding  day,  but  with  a  stronger  impulse 
and  circumstances  more  alarming. — On  this  occasion, 
when  death  seemed  inevitable,  the  resignation  of  Mr. 
Smith  to  the  will  of  God,  his  confidence  in  his  just  and 


30  Life  of  Dr.  Smith. 

righteous  providence,  and  firm  reliance  on  the  merits 
of  his  Saviour,  demonstrated  that  he  was  not  merely 
a  public  teacher  of  the  doctrines  of  rehgion,  but  that 
he  deeply  felt  its  power.  While  he  was  tranquil,  self- 
collected  and  humbly  resigned  to  the  will  of  Godj  his 
presence  of  mind  and  nice  discernment,  in  marking 
the  progress  of  his  disorder,  and  suggesting  the  best 
expedients  by  which  to  obtain  relief,  are  well  worthy 
of  remark  and  even  admiration. — Learning  from  the 
experience  of  several  anxious  days,  that  the  flux  of 
blood  returned  at  stated  intervals,  he  proposed  to  the 
physicians  to  endeavour  to  anticipate  its  approach  by 
opening  his  veins  just  before  the  time  of  its  regular  re- 
turn. As  such  a  large  quantity  of  blood  had  been  dis- 
charged already,  not  less  than  two  gallons  in  a  few 
days,  the  attending  physicians  were  averse  from  mak- 
ing so  hazardous  an  experiment,  declaring  that  by  re- 
peating the  operation  beyond  the  absolute  necessity  of 
the  case,  they  were  only  increasing  the  debility  of  the 
system  which  would  be  done  at  the  imminent  danger  of 
fife.  But  Mr.  Smith  remarked  in  contradiction  of  their 
theory,  that  although  so  much  blood  had  been  lost,  his 
arterial  system,  especially  towards  the  approach  of  the 
time  in  which  the  paroxysm  took  place,  was  unusually 
strong,  and  the  indication  of  its  approach  was  a  slight 
rise  of  the  pulse  and  a  gentle  titillation  at  the  ruptured 
spot.  On  the  fifth  evening,  near  the  usual  time  of  its 
return,  Mr.  Smith,  with  uncommon  fortitude  and  pre- 
sence of  mind,  perceiving  the  symptoms,  solicited  one 
of  the  physicians,  who  happened  to  be  alone  with  him, 
watching  by  his  bed-side,  instantly  to  open  his  vein. 


Life  of  Dr,  Smith.  31 

aud  if  possible  to  prevent  the  flux  from  his  breast.  The 
good  doctor,  deterred  by  his  own  theory,  refused  to 
comply  with  Mr.  Smith's  urgent  request,  and  while  he 
was  proceeding  with  his  argument  to  justify  his  re- 
fusal, the  blood  released  from  the  bandage  which  ob- 
structed it,  spouted  into  his  face,  at  the  same  time  run- 
ning in  a  small  stream  from  his  mouth.  Frightened  at 
his  own  mistake,  as  soon  as  he  could  recover  from  his 
surprise  he  promoted  its  flow  as  much  as  possible,  by 
increasing  the  stricture  upon  the  superior  part  of  his 
arm  and  opening  another  vein.  When  by  these  means 
the  diseased  flux  from  the  mouth  was  arrested  for  the 
time,  Mr.  Smith,  somewiiat  impatient  at  the  objections 
of  his  physicians,  and  their  delay  in  resorting  to  what 
he  conceived  to  be  the  only  remedy  that  was  hkely  to  be 
effectual  in  his  critical  situation,  earnestly  solicited  the 
doctor  to  leave  a  lancet  with  him.  He  believed  that 
urged  by  a  sense  of  danger,  he  could  summon  resolu- 
tion to  perform  the  operation  on  himself;  and  thought 
that,  guided  by  the  symptoms,  he  could  prevent  the  re- 
turn of  the  disease,  when  a  bleeder  might  not  always 
be  present  to  afford  his  aid.  He  thought  moreover, 
that  by  daily  anticipating  the  period  in  which  the 
blood  flowed  from  the  diseased  part,  he  might  so  far 
check  the  impulse  of  the  fluid  on  that  part  as  to  allow 
the  sides  of  the  wound  to  unite  and  heal,  since  the  cur- 
rent in  the  veins  might  be  preserved  in  that  calm  and 
temperate  motion  which  would  not  again  force  them 
asunder.  The  physician,  after  much  persuasion,  con- 
sented at  last  to  resign  the  lancet  to  him,  trembling 
lest  he  was  putting  the  life  of  his  friend  at  great  ha- 


S2  Life  of  Dr.  Smith. 

zard.  Mr.  Smith,  however,  confident  of  the  correct- 
ness of  his  own  views,  resokitely  but  cautiously  opened 
a  vein  the  next  day,  somewhat  earlier  than  the  usual 
time  of  the  paroxysm,  a  person  holding  him  up  in  bed 
while  he  performed  the  operation  on  himself  He  drew 
from  his  arm  nearly  if  not  quite  the  quantity  which  had 
been  found  necessary  since  the  accident  took  place, 
which,  according  to  his  calculations,  prevented  the 
eruption  for  that  day.  Extravasated  blood  however, 
which  had  been  collected  in  large  quantities  in  the  ca- 
vities of  the  thorax  and  coagulated  there,  excited  a 
slight  disposition  to  cough,  and  it  was  computed  that 
from  six  to  eight  ounces  must  have  been  expectorated 
by  him  during  as  many  hours.  This  appearance,  though 
alarming,  did  not  discourage  his  cool  and  reflecting 
mind  from  repeating  the  experiment  which  had  been  so 
successful  on  the  preceding  day,  although  he  was  ap- 
parently almost  exhausted  even  of  the  small  quantity 
of  blood  requisite  to  maintain  the  functions  of  hfe.  The 
experiment  was  now  completely  successful.  The  vio- 
lence in  the  action  of  the  system  abated.  Day  after 
day  the  same  course  was  pursued  with  the  same  result. 
He  was  now,  indeed,  reduced  to  a  state  of  extreme  de- 
bility and  decay,  insomuch  that  he  was  unable  to  move 
a  limb,  could  not  speak  to  his  attendants  except  in 
whispers,  could  not  be  raised  in  bed  without  fainting, 
and  truly  appeared  to  be  rapidly  approaching  the  peri- 
od of  his  dissolution.  But  his  Heavenly  Father  thought 
proper  to  determine  otherwise,  and  to  raise  him  from 
the  valley  of  the  shadow  of  death,  to  become  a  chosen 
instrument  of  usefulness  to  his  church,  a  blessing  to  the* 


Life  of  Dr.  Smith.  o3 

seminary,  and  an  ornament  to  his  country.     He  was 
raised  from  the  bed  of  ilhiess.     Before  the  conjplete 
reestablishment  of  his  health,  so  great  was  his  soHcitude 
about  the  prosperity  of  the  college,  and   so  deep  his 
sense  of  duty  and  responsibility,  that  for  some  time  he 
was  in  the  habit  of  attending  to  the  recitations  of  his 
class  in  his  own  room  before  he  was  able  to  appear  in 
his  place  in  the  institution.     Being  able  now  to  walk 
and  ride  out,  as  the  vernal  season  approached  he  was 
soon  restored  to  his  usual  health  and  able  to  attend  to 
his  duties  as  a  professor,  but  was  obliged  for  some 
years  to  abstain  from  all  exertions  in  the  pulpit,  except 
occasionally  and  with  great  caution,  and  under  much 
restraint.     During  his  future  life  it  is  said  to  have  been 
his  constant  practice,  when  he  felt  any  symptoms  of  a 
tendency  to  his  old  complaint  or  any  unusual  action  in 
his  system  to  resort  to  the  lancet  for  relief,  which  he 
had  learnt  to  use  for  himself  without  difficulty  or  ap- 
prehension; and  contrary  to  the  opinion  usually  enter- 
tained on  that  subject,  he  did  not  find  the  necessity  of 
resorting  to  it  increase  but  diminish  during  his  advan- 
cing years. 

Thus  was  this  eminent  servant  of  God  once  more 
restored,  by  a  benignant  providence,  to  his  family  and 
usefulness.  He  had  still  the  same  difficulties  before- 
mentioned  to  contend  with,  during  the  hfe  of  Dr.  Wither- 
spoon,  whose  time  was  occupied  at  first  with  his  duties 
in  congress,  and  afterwards  at  the  instance  of  the  board 
of  trustees,  in  paying  a  visit  to  England  on  the  hope- 
less errand  of  endeavouring  to  collect  money  to  replen- 
ish the  exhausted  funds  of  the  college. — Soon  after  this 

VOL.  I.  F  , 


34  Life  of  Dr.  Smith. 

event  also  that  venerable  man  was  afflicted  with  totai 
blindness,  and  many  infirmities  which  almost  deprived 
him  of  power  to  attend  to  his  duties,  so  that  the  whole 
weight  and  responsibility  of  the  president's  office  de- 
volved upon  Mr.  Smith.     Like  all  men  of  real  talent, 
however,  his  powers  only  became  more  conspicuous, 
as  they  were  called  into  more  vigorous  exertion.    The 
trustees  of  the  seminary  becoming  every  day  more  sen- 
sible of  his  capacity  and  distinguished  usefulness,  added 
to  his  titles  and  dignities  in  the  institution,  besides  the 
one  of  professor  of  moral  philosophy,  those  of  professor 
of  theology  and  vice  president  of  the  college.     Nor  was 
hisreputation  any  longer  confined  to  the  college  alone. — 
He  was  beginning  to  attract  the  attention  and  respect 
of  the  literary  public.     In  1785,  he  was  elected  an  ho- 
norary member  of  the  American  philosophical  society 
in  Philadelphia,  the  first  institution  of  that  kind  in  our 
country;  and  which  comprised  among  it  members,  men 
of  the  highest  distinction  in  science  and  literature.  As 
his  reputation,  both  as  an  orator  and  scholar,  began  to 
be  justly  appreciated,  he  was  appointed  this  same  year 
by  that  learned  body  to  deliver  their  anniversary  ad- 
dress.    On  this  occasion,  it  was,  that  he  chose  for  his 
subject,  to  explain  the  causes  of  the  variety  in  the  figure 
and  complexion  of  the  human  species  and  estabhsh  the 
identity  of  the  race.     This  masterly  treatise,  so  well 
selected  for  the  occasion,  was  published  in  the  philo- 
sophical transactions  of  the  society,  and  obtained  for 
its  author  deserved  reputation  as  a  philosopher  both  in 
his  own  and  foreign  countries.     This  same  treatise  has 
since  been  enlarged  and  improved  by  him,  and  together 


Life  of  Br.  Smith.  oO 

with  some  strictures  upon  the  principles  of  lord  Kaims, 
Mr.  White  of  Manchester,  &c.  published  in  a  separate 
volume.  In  the  year  following  the  publication  of  this 
work,  while  attending  a  commencement  at  Yale  college 
in  the  state  of  Connecticut,  he  was  unexpectedly  to 
himself  honoured  with  the  degree  of  doctor  in  divinity, 
as  some  years  afterwards  he  received  from  Cambridge 
in  the  state  of  Massachusetts,  that  of  doctor  of  laws. 
His  reputation  as  a  philosopher,  a  divine  and  pulpit 
orator,  was  now  established.  Whenever  he  appeared  in 
the  pulpit,  he  excited  universal  approbation  and  ap- 
plause. In  the  ecclesiastical  councils  to  which  he  was 
sent,  he  shone  as  a  distinguished  luminary.  With  a 
mind  inured  to  close  thinking,  by  habits  of  application 
to  the  study  of  those  authors  the  most  remarkable  for 
profound  thought  and  extensive  erudition,  an  imagina- 
tion, which,  to  its  natural  fertility,  had  added  the  riches 
of  all  that  it  could  cull  in  imagery  from  the  finest  pro- 
ductions in  poetry  and  prose,  and  withall  a  ready  and 
commanding  eloquence,  which  he  had  cultivated  from 
early  life,  he  could  not  fail  to  become  distinguished  in 
debate.  Accordingly  it  is  said  by  those  who  knew  him 
best,  to  have  been  no  small  enjoyment  to  listen  to  him 
in  those  discussions,  which  took  place  in  the  synods 
and  general  assemblies  of  the  pi-esbyterian  church.  The 
confidence  which  his  church  reposed  in  him  was  evin- 
ced by  her  uniformly  putting  his  talents  anct  learning 
into  requisition,  when  any  important  measures  w^re 
proposed  or  any  interesting  objects  accomplished.  In 
the  year  1786  he  was  among  the  number  of  that  com-  ^^ 
mittee,  who  w  ere  directed  to  draw  up  a  system  of  go- 


36  Life  of  Dr.  Smith. 

vernment  for  the  presbyterian  church  in  America.  Be- 
sides himself,  this  committee  consisted  of  Drs.  Wither- 
spoon,  Rogers,  M'Whorter,  Sproat,  Duffield,  AlHson, 
Ewing  and  Wilson,  of  the  clergy,  together  with  Messrs. 
Snowden,  Taggart,  and  Pinkerton,  ruling  elders;  a  list 
of  divines  in  a  high  degree  respectable,  and  some  of 
whom  would  have  done  honour  to  any  age  or  nation. 
In  pursuance  of  this  appointment  was  prepared  and 
digested  that  judicious  and  excellent  form  of  Presby- 
terial  government  by  general  assemblies,  synods,  and 
presbyteries,  which  prevails  at  this  time  in  our  coun- 
try. 

In  1794  Dr.  Witherspoon  finished  his  earthly  course, 
and  in  the  following  spring.  Dr.  Smith  was  appointed 
his  successor,  and  entered  upon  the  dignity  of  that  of- 
fice, the  duties  of  which  he  had  long  before  fulfilled. 
His  talents,  like  all  those  which  are  genuine,  shone 
more  brightly  in  proportion  to  the  elevation  to  which 
he  was  raised.  The  dignity  of  manners  mingled  with 
.a  respectful  attention  to  their  feelings  which,  on  all  oc- 
casions, he  discovered  in  his  deportment  towards  those 
students,  who  devoted  themselves  to  their  duty,  and 
were  obedient  to  the  laws;  the  clearness,  comprehen- 
sion and  force  of  style  which  he  displayed  as  an  in- 
structor to  his  class,  the  manly  and  impressive  eloquence 
which  he  exhibited  on  all  public  occasions,  when  he 
appeared  in  the  pulpit,  rendered  him  the  pride  and  or- 
nament of  the  institution.  The  period  in  which  he 
was  to  preach  became  an  era  in  the  college,  for  at  this 
time  a  pastor,  had  been  provided  for  the  church  at 
Princeton,  and  the  students  on  such  occasions  repaired 


Life  of  Dr.  Smith.  37 

with  alacrity  and  delight  to  the  place  of  divine  worship. 
Never  did  they  return  from  the  church  on  such  occa- 
sions, without  feeling  a  degree  of  enthusiasm  in  favour 
of  the  preacher  and  having  a  sensible  effect  produced 
upon  their  conduct  by  his  eloquent  and  solemn  ser- 
mons. The  writer  of  this  feeble  tribute  to  his  memory, 
can  bear  testimony  to  his  success  as  a  pulpit  orator,  as 
the  effect  produced  upon  his  mind  by  the  able  and 
searching  addresses  of  his  venerable  president  will  never 
be  obliterated.  They  were  the  first  that  ever  exhibited 
to  him,  that  quickening  power  which  the  doctrines  of 
the  gospel  are  capable  of  exercising,  when  recommend- 
ed by  the  ornaments  of  style  and  composition,  and  all 
the  arts  of  a  persuasive  eloquence.  The  addresses  which 
he  delivered  to  the  senior  class,  which  according  to  a 
laudable  custom,  took  place  in  Princeton  college,  on  the 
Sunday  before  the  day  of  their  public  commencement, 
were  generally  executed  in  his  best  style,  and  delivered 
in  his  most  impressive  and  happy  manner.  These  ad- 
dresses annually  delivered  to  his  graduates  became  at 
length  so  celebrated  that  persons  of  the  first  distinction 
in  our  country  went  from  considerable  distances,  even 
from  Philadelphia  and  New  York,  to  listen  to  them. 
The  people  of  Trenton,  in  New  Jersey,  will  long  re- 
member the  effect  produced  upon  them  by  his  oration 
upon  the  death  of  General  Washington,  an  occasion  on 
which  eloquence  could  exercise  her  highest  powers, 
and  eulogy  lavish  her  most  hyperbolical  encomiums, 
without  any  apprehension  of  degenerating  into  extra- 
vagance or  excess.     About  this  time,  he  published  one 


38  Life  of  Dr.  Smith. 

volume  of  sermons,  which  was  well  received  both  in  hib 
own  and  in  foreign  countries. 

While  the  affairs  of  the  college  were  thus  prosper- 
ously advancing,  under  the  auspices  of  a  president  and 
professors  of  acknowledged  ability,  for  Dr.  Smith  had 
the  happiness  of  having  associated  with  him,  first  Dr. 
Walter  Minto,  one  of  the  most  distinguished  mathema- 
ticians of  his  age,  and  afterwards.  Dr.  John  M'Lean, 
who,  for  clearness  of  understanding  and  largeness  of 
comprehension,  had  few  equals  in  those  branches  of 
science  to  which  he  devoted  himself;  an  event  happen- 
ed which  for  a  time  overwhelmed  with  despair  the 
friends  of  this  institution.  From  some  cause  which, 
to  this  day,  has  not  been  completely  explained,  the  col- 
lege buildings  were  burnt  to  the  ground.  This  con- 
flagration was,  at  first,  supposed  to  be  the  work  of  some 
incendiary  among  the  malcontent  students,  and  several 
of  them  suffered  in  their  character,  from  the  strong 
suspicions  which  were  entertained  of  their  guilt;  but 
after  a  full  investigation  of  the  matter,  it  appears  rather 
to  have  been  the  effect  of  accident  than  design.  From 
w^hatever  cause  the  effect  may  have  been  produced,  we 
can  more  easily  conceive  than  describe  the  sensations 
of  Dr.  Smith,  when  he  saw  that  edifice,  which  he  had 
been  so  instrumental  in  rearing  after  the  ravages  of  the 
war,  and  which  had  been  for  some  time  past  filled  with 
young  men,  many  of  whom  were  ardently  engaged  un- 
der his  care  in  the  pursuit  of  knowledge,  one  heap  of 
ruins.  Sickened,  however,  as  his  heart  was  at  the 
sight,  his  mind  fertile  in  expedients,  did  not  long  hesi- 
tate as  to  the  course  which  it  was  necessary  to  pursue 


Life  of  Dr.  SmUL  39 

m  this  critical  conjuncture.  The  board  of  trustees  was 
immediately  summoned,  and  a  plan  proposed  of  setting 
forward  throughout  the  United  States  among  the  friends 
of  the  seminary  a  subscription,  for  the  purpose  of 
raising  a  sum  of  money  sufficient  to  repair  the  injuries 
which  had  been  sustained.  In  the  execution  of  this 
plan,  the  influential  members  of  the  board  were  request- 
ed to  exert  all  their  power  in  collecting  subscriptions 
in  their  several  districts,  w^hile  the  president  was  di- 
rected in  person  to  travel  through  the  middle  and 
southern  states,  where  the  supporters  of  the  institution 
principally  resided,  with  the  same  views.  Such  was 
the  success  with  which  these  exertions  were  attended 
that,  in  a  short  time,  the  building  arose  like  a  phoenix 
from  its  ashes;  a  larger  library  than  the  college  before 
possessed  was  purchased,  and  more  ample  and  conve- 
nient accommodations  were  provided  for  the  students. 
For  some  years  after  this  event,  tlie  number  of  the  pu- 
pils was  augmented  beyond  what  had  ever  before  been 
known  in  it.  Thus  was  Dr.  Smith  a  second  time,  the 
principal  instrument  in  rearing  this  literary  institution. 
From  this  period  no  important  event  happened  bejond 
what  are  usual  in  similar  places,  until  the  year  1812, 
when  after  repeated  strokes  of  the  palsy,  he  found  him- 
self unable  to  attend  to  his  duties  in  college,  and  ac- 
cordingly, at  the  next  commencement,  to  the  great  re- 
gret of  the  students  and  all  the  friends  of  the  college, 
he  pubhcly  resigned  his  presidency,  and  retired  to  a 
house  allotted  to  him  by  the  board  of  trustees,  while, 
with  a  liberality  that  does  that  respectable  body  of  men 
no  small  credit,  the  greater  part  of  his  former  salary 


40  Uife  of  Dr.  Smith. 

was  continued  to  him  during  his  life.  From  this  period 
although  only  in  his  sixty-second  year,  the  paralytic 
strokes,  with  which  he  had  been  visited,  had  so  far 
weakened  his  constitution,  as  to  render  him  utterly  in- 
capable of  any  of  his  ordinary  exertions  of  body  or 
mind.  Even  in  this  enfeebled  state,  however,  his  na- 
tural ardour  and  activity  in  the  prosecution  of  learning 
still  continued.  He  spent  a  portion  of  his  time  incor- 
rectmg  his  works,  and  prepared  for  the  press,  and  pub- 
lished that  system  of  moral  philosophy,  which  for  more 
than  twenty  years  he  had  delivered  to  the  classes,  and 
which  is  certainly  among  the  best  productions  of  this 
kind  extant.  Conscious  of  the  extreme  debility  of  his 
system,  he  was  obliged  at  length  to  rehnquish  all  those 
pursuits,  to  which  he  had  become  accustomed,  and  de- 
voted himself  solely  to  the  enjoyment  of  his  family  cir- 
cle and  those  numerous  friends  whose  attachment  to 
him  became  strengthened,  by  the  near  prospect  which 
presented  itself  of  so  soon  being  deprived  of  him  for- 
ever. The  fervour  and  sincerity  of  his  piety,  appear- 
ed more  conspicuous  now  that  it  was  brought  to  the 
test.  With  a  mind  conscious  of  the  most  unsullied 
purity,  and  uprightness  of  intention;  the  retrospect  of 
a  well  spent  life,  and  an  entire  trust  in  the  mercy 
and  goodness  of  God,  he  seemed  to  await,  in  unruffled 
tranquillity  the  summons  of  his  heavenly  Father,  that 
should  transport  him  to  a  better  world.  Divested  of  all 
the  passions  which  disturb  and  embitter  the  intercourse 
of  those  who  are  engaged  in  the  conflicts  of  ambition, 
living  separate  from  the  world,  and  under  the  sure  pros- 


Life  of  Dr.  Smith.  41 

pect  of  a  speedy  dissolution,  he  appeared,  in  the  lan- 
guage of  the  poet, 

To  walk  thoughtful  on  the  silent,  solemn  shore 
Of  that  vast  ocean  he  must  sail  so  soon — 

For  some  weeks  before  his  death,  his  strength  be- 
came visibly  decreased,  and  on  the  21st  Augusl,  1819, 
the  70th  year  of  his  age,  he  died  almost  without  a  strug- 
gle, conversing  to  the  last  with  his  family,  exhibiting 
entire  composure  and  resignation,  and  discovering  even 
an  anxiety  to  be  released  from  that  weight  of  feeble- 
ness and  infirmity,  which  for  some  years  before  had 
borne  down  his  spirit,  and  cut  him  off  from  those  en- 
joyments, in  w4nch  his  active  mind  found  its  greatest 
happiness.  His  funeral  was  attended  by  an  unusual 
concourse  of  his  fellow  citizens,  assembled,  even  from 
remote  distances,  to  avail  themselves  of  this  last  op- 
portunity of  testifying  their  respect  for  a  man  so  much 
honoured  and  esteemed.  His  body  was  deposited  by 
the  side  of  the  other  presidents  of  the  college,  and  the 
usual  monument  is  now  erecting  over  his  ashes.  He 
had  the  misfortune  to  lose  his  wife  some  years  previ- 
ous to  his  own  death,  by  whom  he  had  nine  children, 
five  of  which  number  only  have  sui'vived  him. 

We  shall  now  proceed  to  state  his  claims  as  a  phi- 
losopher, a  president  of  the  college,  a  writer,  a  pulpit 
orator  and  a  man.  Dr.  Smith,  from  the  earliest  period 
of  life,  devoted  himself  exclusively  to  the  cultivation  of 
science.  His  pretensions  as  a  philosopher  do  honour 
to  his  country.  In  all  his  works  we  discover  great  just- 

VOL.  I.  <5 


4^2      '  Life  of  Dr.  Smith. 

ness  and  profoundness  of  observation,  extensive  ac- 
quaintance with  science  and  literature,  together  with  a 
liberal  and  philosophical  cast  of  thinking.  His  Princi- 
ples of  Natural  and  Revealed  Religion,  his  Moral  Phi- 
losophy, his  Lectures  upon  the  Evidences  of  Christi- 
anity delivered  to  the  students  in  college,  his  Treatise 
upon  the  Figure  and  Complexion  of  the  human  spe- 
cies, and  lastly,  his  Sermons,  consisting  of  three  vo- 
lumes, two  of  which  are  now  given  to  the  public;  are 
the  works  upon  which  his  reputation  is  built,  and  they 
are  all  written  with  the  hand  of  a  master.  In  his  Prin- 
ciples of  Natural  and  Revealed  Religion,  he  has  given 
a  concise  but  neat  and  perspicuous  view  of  the  doc- 
trines and  rites  of  the  christian  religion,  as  they  are  re- 
ceived and  practised  in  the  presbyterian  church.  His 
views  are  decidedly  calvanistic,  but  couched  in  terms 
of  so  nmch  moderation  and  liberality,  that  in  his  hands 
they  are  rendered  as  little  offensive  to  those  who  have 
embraced  a  different  creed,  as  it  is  possible  to  make 
them.  In  this  treatise  he  has  comprised  within  a  small 
compass,  a  great  variety  of  theological  learning  and 
useful  and  interesting  disquisition,  expressed  in  a  lan- 
guage at  once  neat  and  elegant,  while  his  doctrines  are 
recommended  by  profound  reflections  and  happy  illus- 
trations. His  Moral  Philosophy  is  certainly  among  the 
best  productions  of  this  kind  at  present  in  the  posses- 
sion of  the  literary  world.  As  a  book  for  the  use  of 
colleges  and  schools,  it  is  liable  to  fewer  objections  than 
any  that  can  be  obtained.  The  treatise  of  Dr.  Paley 
on  this  subject,  although  perhaps  as  a  work  of  genius 
superior  to  any  other,  and  characterised  by  all  those 


Life  of  Dr.  Smith.  43 

excellencies  usually  discoverable  in  the  productions  of 
that  amiable  moralist  and  elegant  writer,  is  well  known, 
and  I  believe,  generally  admitted  to  be  most  materially 
defective  in  tracing  the  foundations  of  moral  duty.  The 
excellent  work  of  Hutcheson,  is  too  abstract  and  dif- 
fuse for  the  use  of  schools,  and  that  of  Dr.  Beattie 
rather  an  inferior  production,  and  without  that  body  of 
interesting  matter  which  we  have  reason  to  expect  in 
an  elementary  treatise  intended  for  the  instruction  of 
youth.     It  is  a  common  objection  against  this  work  of 
Dr.  Smith,  that  he  has  introduced  into  it  many  topics 
which  are  irrelative  to  the  subject  of  moral  and  politi- 
cal philosophy;  and,  perhaps,  it  is,  in  some  degree,  lia- 
ble to  an  exception  of  this  kind.     But  even  this  cir- 
cumstance which  may  be  admitted  to  be  a  real  imper- 
fection in  the  work,  when  estimated  as  a  production  of 
genius,  may  be  of  service  to  it,  when  received  into  our 
colleges  as  a  manual  of  instruction  in  the  education  of 
youth.     The  variety  of  subjects  discussed  serves  to 
open,  and  expand  the  faculties  of  youthful  minds,  to 
extend  the  sphere  of  their  acquaintance  with  science 
and  literature,  and  at  once  to  gratify  their  fondness  for 
novelty,  and  to  strengthen  and  invigorate  their  intel- 
lectual powers.     His  Lectures  upon  the  Evidences  of 
the  Christian  Religion,  hold  a  respectable  rank  with 
the  works  of  Stillingfleet,  Grotius,  Paley,  and  the  nu- 
merous writers  who  have  undertaken  the  discussion 
of  the  same  subject,  and  his  volume  of  sermons  is 
one  of  the  best  on  the  subjects  of  practical  divinity, 
which  issued  from  the  press  during  the  last  century. 
The  treatise,  however,  upon  which,  if  he  had  written 


44  Life  of  Dr.  Smith. 

no  other,  he  might  found  a  high  and  well  merited  re- 
putation as  a  philosopher,  is  that  upon  the  variety  of 
figure  and  complexion  in  the  human  species,  which  is 
among  the  first  and  best  of  his  productions.  It  was  at . 
first  published  as  delivered  to  the  philosophical  society 
of  Philadelphia,  and  of  course  much  less  m  size  than 
it  now  appears  in  a  separate  volume,  but  it  may  rea- 
sonably be  doubted  whether  by  introducing  into  it  a 
greater  accumulation  of  matter,  although  that  matter 
be  of  a  very  interesting  and  useful  kind,  and  undoubt- 
edly contributes  to  the  information  and  amusement  of 
the  reader,  he  has  not  upon  the  whole  weakened  the 
impression,  which  the  argument  produces  upon  the 
mind.  However  this  may  be,  in  its  present  form,  it  is 
indisputably  a  masterpiece  of  philosophical  writing,  and 
such  as  would  have  done  honour  to  any  man  that  ever 
lived.  He  who  contributes  to  the  detection  and  expo- 
sure of  error  and  the  establishment  of  the  great  prin- 
ciples of  tmth  and  duty,  who  exhibits  important  doc- 
trines in  science,  morals  or  religion  in  new  and  interest- 
ing points  of  light,  recommends  them  by  original  embel- 
lishments of  fancy  and  all  the  graces  of  style  and  compo- 
sition, may,  alike  with  him  who  has  the  happinessto  make 
great  discoveries  in  philosophy,  be  regarded  as  one  of  the 
benefactors  of  his  race.  In  efforts  of  this  kind  lies  the 
merit  of  Dr.  Smith,  in  the  treatise  of  which  we  are 
now  speaking.  If  he  had  not  the  honour  of  conceiving 
the  original  plan  upon  which  the  varieties  in  the  race 
might  be  explained,  which  it  is  conceded  had  been 
sketched  out  by  the  philosophers  of  Europe,  he  is  en- 
titled to  the  still  higher  merit  of  having  reduced  what 
they  had  only  conjectured,  or  feebly  supported,  to  a 


Lnfe  of  Ih\  Smith.  45 

finished  and  conclusive  argument  amounting  to  the 
highest  degree  of  moral  certainty.  His  object  in  this 
treatise,  is  to  show  that  all  that  great  variety  exhibited 
among  our  race  in  their  stature,  complexion  and  fi- 
gure, commencing  from  the  Tartar  and  Simoide  in  the 
north  of  Europe,  including  the  fair  complexion  and 
regular  features  of  the  temperate  zones,  the  copper- 
coloured  Indian,  the  deep  olive  of  the  Moors,  and  ter- 
minating in  the  indeUbly  black  of  tropical  Africa,  to- 
gether with  the  other  peculiarities  of  that  nation,  may 
be  explained  from  the  united  action  of  climate,  the 
state  of  society,  and  manner  of  Hving.  Besides  that 
this  doctrine  would  seem  to  be  evidently  deducible  from 
the  account  given  in  the  Sacred  Scriptures  of  the  ori- 
ginal of  our  race,  which  is  there  traced,  in  the  first  in- 
stance to  Adam  our  great  progenitor,  and  in  the  next, 
•to  Noah  and  his  sons  after  the  deluge,  by  whom  the 
whole  earth  is  said  to  have  been  overspread,  it  would 
appear  equally  to  result  by  unavoidable  inference  from 
the  maxims  of  a  sound  philosophy.  No  more  causes 
of  things  are  to  be  admitted  than  are  both  true  and  suf- 
ficient to  explain  the  phenomena,  is  a  maxim  which, 
ever  since  the  days  of  Newton,  has  been  held  as  unde- 
niable. That  admirable  simplicity,  which  runs  through 
all  the  adjustments  and  operations  of  nature,  would 
seem  to  indicate  that  the  Creator,  in  accomplishing  the 
purposes  of  infinite  wisdom,  would  resort  to  no  more 
expedients  than  are  absolutely  necessary  to  the  attain- 
ment of  his  ends.  If,  therefore,  from,  a  single  pair,  or 
from  the  family  of  Noah,  in  the  natural  course  of  pro- 
pagation, the  whole  globe  would  be  speedily  peopled 


46  Life  of  Dr.  Smith, 

and  the  purposes  of  the  Creator  in  replenishing  it  with 
inhabitants  be  accompHshed,  it  would  be  against  all  the 
principles  of  a  just  philosophy  to  resort  to  the  supposi- 
tion of  a  diversity  of  origin,  in  order  to  account  for  the 
varieties  which  exist.     Nothing  can  be  imagined  more 
unphilosophical  and  less  founded  in  fact  and  experience, 
than  the  opinion  of  those  who,  with  Voltaire,  imagine 
different  races  to  be  produced,  suited  to  their  various 
situations,  like  vegetable  productions  springing  out  of 
the  soils  to  whicli  they  are  severally  adapted.     Such  a 
crude  and  unconcocted  theory  as  this  could  have  arisen 
only  out  of  a  wanton  spirit  of  hostihty  to  religion.  How* 
completely  would  the  scene  displayed  in  this  affair  have 
been  reversed,  had  the  Sacred  Scriptures  contained  an 
account  of  the  original  of  the  human  race,  and  the  first 
settlement  of  the  globe,  conformable  to  the  views  of 
those  who  now  undertake,  by  this  indirect  means,  to 
invalidate  their  claims  to  credit.'^     Had  they  informed 
us,  that  progenitors  for  the  different  nations  sprang  up, 
hke   mushrooms,  suited  to  their  conditions  upon  the 
globe;  what  sage  lessons  would  have  been  read  to  us 
by  the  same  men  who  are  now  maintaining  these  ab- 
surdities, about  the  simplicity  of  nature  in  her  opera- 
tions, the  necessity  of  being  guided  in  all  our  inquiries 
by  the  strictest  rules  of  philosophising,  which  require 
us  to  assign  no  more  causes  of  things  than  are  abso- 
lutely necessary  to  explain  the  phenomena,  and  since  a 
single  pair  would  be  all  that  would  be  necessary  to  the 
population  of  the  earth,  it  would  be  contrary  to  the 
principles  of  right  reason,  to  suppose  that  the  Supreme 
Being  would  have  originally  created  more?     This  me- 


Life  of  Dr.  Smith.  47 

thod  of  reasoning  would  at  least  be  more  consistent 
with  their  usual  course  of  procedure  in  attacking  the 
doctrines  of  religion  or  the  authority  ot  revelation,  than 
the  one  to  which  they  have  resorted  in  the  present  case,  as 
they  generally  wish  to  conduct  their  operations  against 
us,  if  not  with  the  genuine  and  authentic  arms  of  phi- 
losophy, at  least,  with  those  which  counterfeit  her  vene- 
rable image  and  superscription.  Complaint  has  been 
made  on  this  subject,  that  the  advocates  of  the  identity 
of  the  race,  by  attempting  to  enlist  revelation  on  their 
side,  would  wish  to  extinguish  the  lights  of  philosophi- 
cal investigation  or  stifle  the  voice  of  free  inquiry.  But 
might  not  the  same  complaint  be  made  with  equal  just- 
ness and  apphcation,  in  reference  to  any  other  doc- 
trines inculcated  upon  the  authority  of  revelation? 
Might  not  the  Sacred  Scriptures  be  considered  as  liable 
to  a  similar  reprehension,  because  they  establish  the 
truths  that  there  is  a  God,  a  future  state  of  rewards 
and  punishments,  an  immortal  existence  intended  for 
the  souls  of  men,  and  all  the  other  tenets  of  the  chris- 
tian faith,  and  no  longer  allow  a  license  to  the  erring 
reason  of  men,  to  subject  them  to  the  trial  of  vain  and 
doubtful  disputations.^  Far  be  it  from  us  to  feel  any 
inchnation  to  check  the  progress  of  free  inquiry,  or  set 
limits  to  that  full  and  ample  range  which  we  would  al- 
low to  philosophy  while  she  confines  her  researches 
within  those  tracts,  over  which  God  and  nature  have 
assigned  her  a  just  and  lawful  dominion.  We  are  sen- 
sible of  no  tendency  to  partake  of  that  spirit  of  bigotry 
and  intolerance,  which  led  to  the  persecution  of  Roger 
Bacon  and  Des  Cartes,  exposed  Gallileo  to  confine- 


48  Life  ofDr,  Smith. 

ment,  and  put  his  life  in  jeopardy  for  his  philosophical 
discoveries;  but  we  cannot  conceive  why  what  is  un- 
doubtedly revealed  in  the  word  of  God  or  deducible 
from  it  by  unavoidable  inference,  should  be  withheld 
or  not  boldly  maintained,  and  pertinaciously  adhered 
to,  from  an  apprehension  of  checking  reason  in  her 
range,  or  stifling  the  voice  of  free  inquiry.  We  enter- 
tain no  fears  that  after  a  full  and  complete  investiga- 
tion, the  doctrine  inculcated  in  Sacred  Scripture  on  this 
or  any  other  topic  will  be  found  at  variance  with  the 
conclusions  of  a  just  philosophy.  The  experience  of 
the  church  in  the  case  of  Gallileo,  if  she  had  not  been 
taught  many  other  lessons  of  a  similar  nature  during 
the  course  of  her  history,  should  have  put  her  on  her 
guard,  not  to  be  too  sensitive  or  over-jealous  in  points 
of  this  kind,  or  allow  her  fears  to  be  too  easily  alarm- 
ed, for  the  safety  of  that  precious  treasure  of  divine 
truth,  entrusted  to  her  keeping;  but,  to  repose  in  entire 
confidence  upon  the  conviction,  that  the  same  God 
who  has  endited  his  holy  word,  will  not  allow  it  to  be 
invalidated  or  falsified  by  his  works,  when  rightly  in- 
terpreted. As  far  as  the  parallel  has  been  hitherto 
run,  between  the  word  of  God  and  his  works,  as  dis- 
closed to  us  by  the  discoveries  of  science,  the  accord- 
ance, or  correspondence  traced  between  them  has  been 
strict  and  wonderful,  and  it  is  not  hkely,  that  any  fu- 
ture investigations  of  science,  will  be  found  to  set  them 
at  variance  with  each  other.  This  observation  has  been 
still  more  strikingly  verified  in  the  present  instance.  Dr. 
Smith  has  shown,  in  the  treatise,  whose  merits  we  are 
now  canvassing,  that  the  inference  to  which  we  should 


Life  of  Dr.  Smith.  49 

be  naturally  led  from  the  representations  of  sacred  scrip- 
ture, in  regard  to  the  identity  of  the  human  race,  is  the 
same  which  we  should  deduce  from  the  principles  of 
philosophy.  We  cannot  but  be  of  opinion,  that  any  one 
who  shall  take  the  trouble,  not  only  to  read,  but  to 
study  and  comprehend  this  work,  will  find  that  by  his 
able  and  learned  argument  upon  the  subject,  he  has 
fairly  brought  it  to  a  conclusion,  and  supplied  us  with 
an  evidence,  as  satisfactory  to  the  understanding  as  the 
nature  of  the  case  admits.  To  all  the  objections,  which 
have  been  alleged  against  his  system,  commencing 
with  those  of  that  elegant  writer  and  profound  critic 
lord  Kaims,  and  terminating  in  the  efforts  of  some  later 
authors,  who  have  had  the  presumption  to  controvert 
his  principles,  without  taking  the  trouble  to  comprehend 
them,  we  consider  him  as  having  furnished  satisfactory 
refutations.  That  his  doctrine  will  ultimately  triumph, 
and  that  all  future  discoveries  of  science  will  contribute 
to  its  support  and  confirmation,  we  entertain  not  the 
smallest  doubt;  nor  that  the  work  in  which  it  is  main- 
tained, will,  by  all  those  who  are  capable  of  judging, 
be  regarded  as  a  valuable  accession  to  the  stock  of  hu- 
man knowledge,  and  remain  a  lasting  monument  of  his 
genius. 

From  his  pretensions  as  a  philosopher,  we  proceed 
to  those  which  he  sustained  as  the  president  of  the  col- 
lege. His  talents,  it  is  true,  were  rather  of  the  con- 
templative than  the  executive  kind,  and  he  was  more 
fitted  for  researches  and  speculations  of  the  closet,  than 
for  the  prompt  exertions,  the  quick  perception  of  the 
best  expedients  to  accomplish  ends,  together  with  the 

VOL.  I.  H 


50  Life  of  Dr.  Smith. 

ready  and  vigorous  prosecution  of  them,  which  are  in- 
dispensible  quahfications  in  conducting  to  successful 
issues,  the  affairs  of  active  life.  To  cool  contempla- 
tion, or  the  calm  pursuits  of  mild  philosophy,  rather 
than  to  the  tumult  and  heat  of  action,  he  seems  to  have 
been  formed  by  his  habits,  which  were  those  of  study 
and  reflection.  But,  on  important  occasions  in  which 
his  feelings  became  engaged,  and  his  sense  of  duty  pro- 
pelled him  to  exertion,  no  man  discovered  more  promp- 
titude, decision  and  energy  of  character,  or  more  firm- 
ness and  perseverance.  He  entered  upon  the  duties 
of  the  presidency  in  the  college  at  a  conjuncture,  in 
which  they  had  become  peculiarly  delicate  and  arduous. 
The  French  revolution  which  had  just  taken  place,  at 
the  same  time,  that  it  uprooted  the  very  foundation  of 
the  ancient  monarchy  of  that  nation,  and  threw  the 
state  into  confusion  and  wild  misrule  as  well  as  delug- 
ed it  with  blood,  did  not  confine  its  effects  to  the  hmits 
of  that  single  kingdom,  but  extended  its  influence  to 
many  of  the  contemporary  nations.  In  no  country  was 
this  effect  more  sensibly  felt  than  in  our  own,  as  was 
natural,  on  account  of  the  severe  struggle  from  which 
we  had  just  released  ourselves  in  the  establishment  of 
our  independence,  and  the  train  of  feelings  and  opinions 
to  which  that  struggle  gave  rise.  It  awoke  among  the 
citizens  of  this  republic  an  enthusiasm  in  favour  of  the 
civil  rights  of  mankind,  which  had  an  immediate  ten- 
dency to  extravagance  and  excess,  and  which  extend- 
ed itself  throughout  all  the  departments  of  civil  and  so- 
cial life.  If  our  people  were  not  prepared  to  consider 
all  government  useless  and  oppressive,  they  were  at 


Iflfe  of  Dr.  Smith.  51 

least  not  in  a  condition  to  bear  with  tameness  and  ac- 
quiescence any  thing  that  bore  the  semblance  of  a  re- 
straint upon  their  liberty.  From  the  members  of  the 
republic  this  infection  spread  itself  among  our  youth, 
who  strange  to  tell,  carried  these  false  notions  of  liber- 
ty along  with  them  into  our  seminaries  of  learning,  and 
the  same  cause  that  gave  rise  to  all  the  uneasiness  of 
our  Washington,  the  stay  of  the  federal  government  and 
the  guardian  genius  of  his  country,  and  which  on  more 
than  one  occasion  shook  to  its  foundation  the  noble  fa- 
bric he  had  reared,  extended  its  action  also  into  the 
colleges  and  schools  of  our  country.  The  spirit  of  in- 
subordination, which  showed  itself  amongst  the  stu- 
dents, and  their  unceasing  tendency  to  tumult  and  re- 
volt against  the  exercise  of  just  and  lawful  authority, 
was  the  spring  out  of  which  flowed  all  Dr.  Smithes  anxi- 
eties and  difficulties,  in  discharging  the  duties  of  his  high 
and  responsible  station.  From  this  fruitful  source,  storm 
after  storm  succeeded  in  the  institution,  which  required 
all  the  address,  influence  and  knowledge  of  human  na- 
ture, which  he  could  summon  to  his  aid,  to  prevent  from 
leading  to  its  utter  ruin.  On  these  occasions,  his  readiness 
of  resource,  his  firmness  and  decision  of  character,  his 
commanding  powers  of  eloquence,  and  all  those  talents 
that  constitute  real  greatness,  as  it  is  capable  of  being 
exhibited  in  active  life,  conspicuously  appeared.  The 
dignity  of  his  presence  overawed  disaffection  and  re- 
volt. Never  did  he  address  himself  in  vain  to  the  stu- 
dents under  his  care.  His  eloquent  appeals  to  their 
understandings,  their  pride  of  character,  and  their  sense 
of  duty  were  always  irresistible.  Armed  with  his  pow- 


62  Life  of  Dr.  Smith. 

evs,  the  authority  of  college  never  failed  to  triumph. 
Confusion  and  wild  uproar  heard  his  voice  and  was 
still.  Severe  as  were  the  contests  he  had  thus  fre- 
quently to  sustain  with  the  students,  they  never  ceased 
to  regard  him  with  the  highest  respect,  and  to  enter- 
tain for  his  person  undiminished  affection.  Of  all  those 
young  men  who  were  successively  under  his  charge,  I 
very  much  doubt  whether  a  single  one  could  be  found 
who  does  not  cherish  for  his  memory  the  highest  vene- 
ration. Never,  perhaps,  did  any  president  of  a  college 
receive  from  his  pupils  a  more  flattering  proof  of  atten- 
tion and  respect,  than  he  received  from  his,  when,  after 
the  conflagration  of  the  college-buildings,  he  was  tak- 
ing his  journey  through  the  middle  and  southern  states, 
in  order  to  make  up  subscriptions  to  defray  the  expense 
of  repairing  the  injuries  which  had  been  sustained.  The 
gentlemen  in  the  several  districts  through  which  he  pass- 
ed, who  had  graduated  under  his  care,  met  together  to 
consult  not  only  about  the  best  method  of  paying  their 
respects  to  him  by  waiting  upon  him  in  person,  but  also 
for  the  purpose  of  anticipating,  in  the  way  the  most  grate- 
ful to  his  feelings,  the  object  of  his  visit.  To  save  him 
from  the  task,  at  no  time  agreeable,  of  making  appli- 
cation iu  person  to  the  men  of  wealth  in  the  places 
through  which  he  went,  they  not  only  presented  him 
unsolicited  the  several  sums  which  they  themselves 
subscribed,  but  voluntarily  undertook  the  office,  of  so- 
liciting in  his  stead  the  contributions  of  others.  An  act 
of  complicated  virtue,  by  which  they  at  once  discharg- 
ed the  obligation  of  gratitude  which  they  owed  to  their 
venerable  preceptor,  exhibited  an  example  of  the  most 


JUfe  of  Dr.  Smith.  53 

delicate  courtesy  to  the  object  of  their  esteem,  and  ful- 
filled an  important  public  duty. 

As  a  writer  he  is  entitled  to  a  very  distinguished 
rank.  He  had  a  mind  which  was,  indeed  capable  of 
comprehending  the  abstruse  and  penetrating  into  the 
profound,  but  which  following  its  natural  impulses, 
chose  rather  to  devote  itself  to  the  acquisition  of  what 
is  elegant  and  agreeable  in  science  and  hterature.  If 
his  natural  parts  did  not  prompt  him,  with  Locke, 
Clarke  and  Butler,  successfully  to  fathom  the  depths  of 
that  vast  ocean  of  truth  an4  certainty  presented  to  us 
in  metaphysics  and  divinity;  with  Addison,  Pope  and 
Swift,  he  found  a  high  degree  of  mental  enjoyment  in 
exploring  the  more  flowery  fields  of  the  Belles-Lettres, 
and  all  that  part  of  knowledge  which  comes  under  the 
denomination  of  polite  learning.  With  this  kind  of 
literary  treasure  his  mind  was  richly  stored,  and  he 
was  at  all  times  able  to  give  vent  to  it  in  a  correct  and 
elegant  style  of  writing.  He  was  versed  in  the  Latin, 
Greek,  French  and  Hebrew  languages;  and  his  style  of 
writing  was  remarkably  neat  and  chastened,  when  com- 
pared with  that  which  is  now  becoming  every  day  more 
and  more  prevalent.  In  his  works  we  find  none  of 
those  meretricious  ornaments,  that  perpetual  splendour 
of  diction,  those  studied  efforts  to  dazzle  by  brilliant 
thoughts,  and  pompous  expressions,  which  are  now 
becoming  but  too  common,  and  are  always  sure  indi- 
cations of  a  corrupt  taste.  His  periods,  it  is  true,  are 
generally  well  turned,  and  harmonious,  and  he  disco- 
vers no  disinclination  to  receive  legitimate  embellish- 
ments of  fancy,  when  they  come  to  him  unsought.  His 


54  Life  of  Dr.  Smith, 

style  is  full,  flowing  and  polished,  but  never  glitters 
with  gaudy  ornaments.  If  there  be  any  fault  that  is 
worthy  of  being  noticed,  it  is  the  want  of  ease,  grace  and 
that  artless  simplicity  which  give  to  the  productions  of 
some  writers  an  irresistible  charm.  Whatever  defects, 
however,  a  scrupulous  criticism  might  descry  in  the 
compositions  of  this  writer,  they  are  compensated  by 
his  uniform  perspicuity,  strength  and  elegance,  the 
most  indispensible  requisites  in  fine  writing.  Circum- 
stances elicit  the  powers  of  authors,  as  well  as  the  ta- 
lents of  those  who  perform  their  parts  upon  the  active 
scenes  of  life,  and  are  called  upon  to  gain  the  ear  of 
listening  senates  or  sway  the  rod  of  empires.  Had  Dr. 
Smith  lived  at  the  time  of  the  reformation,  or  at  any 
critical  and  interesting  period  in  the  history  of  the 
church,  when  great  interests  were  at  stake  and  import- 
ant controversies  maintained,  he  would  have  been  found 
one  of  the  ablest  champions  that  ever  espoused  a  cause. 
In  the  days  of  Luther,  Calvin  and  Cranmer,  when  all 
his  powers  would  have  been  excited  into  strenuous  ex- 
ertion, we  very  much  overrate  his  talents,  if  he  would 
not  have  approved  himself  a  worthy  coadjutor  to  those 
illustrious  men,  and  entirely  equal  to  that  sublime  un- 
dertaking on  which  they  had  embarked. 

As  a  pulpit  orator  he  would  have  done  honour  to  any 
age  or  nation.  There  was  a  dignity  and  even  majesty 
in  his  person  and  appearance  in  the  pulpit,  as  well  as 
in  his  conceptions  and  style  of  speaking,  which  excited 
involuntary  respect  and  commanded  the  most  unremit- 
ted attention.  He  seems  to  have  formed  himself  upon 
that  imaginary  model  of  a  perfect  pulpit  orator,  which 


lAfe  of  Dr.  Smith.  55 

Dr.  Blair  in  his  excellent  lectures  upon  rhetoric  has 
so  well  delineated,  in  whose  sermons  and  mode  of  ad- 
dress there  should  be  transfused  into  the  sound  sense 
and  masterly  argument  of  the  English  preachers,  the 
spirit,  fire  and  vehemence  of  the  French.  To  a  certain 
extent,  it  must  be  admitted,  that  he  carried  into  exe- 
cution what  his  mind  had  conceived.  In  his  sermons 
there  was  always  contained  a  large  body  of  judicious 
and  interesting  matter,  wrought  with  the  highest  art, 
and  the  whole  animated  with  the  glow  of  passion  and 
imagination.  Adorned  by  his  genius  the  pulpit  was 
converted  into  a  fountain  at  once  of  light  to  illuminate 
the  understandings  of  his  hearers,  and  of  heat  to  warm 
and  fructify  their  hearts.  We  have  often  listened  to 
preachers  who,  at  times,  would  produce  a  more  power- 
ful effect  upon  their  audience  and  awake  more  sensa- 
tion ;  but  we  have  never  heard  one  who  throughout  the 
whole  of  his  address  afforded  them  a  richer  and  more 
delightful  repast.  His  discourses  were  always  con- 
structed with  exquisite  art  and  address,  commencing 
with  a  regular  exordium  and  exciting  a  deeper  interest 
as  he  advanced  through  their  different  stages,  and  such 
was  the  earnestness  and  pathos  of  his  mode  of  delivery, 
and  his  masculine  eloquence,  that  the  attention  seldom 
flagged  until  he  arrived  at  the  conclusion.  His  oratory 
was  a  gentle  stream  that  flowed,  for  the  most  part 
equably  and  smoothly,  but  which  at  times  could  swell 
into  the  force,  impetuosity  and  sublimity  of  the  torrent. 
His  voice  was  clear,  full  and  harmonious,  his  enuncia- 
tion distinct,  his  gestures  few, but  significant  and  impres- 
sive, his  whole  appearance  dignified  and  imposing,  and. 


56  Life  of  Dr.  Smith. 

on  some  occasions,  when  he  was  more  than  usually  excit- 
ed by  passion,  every  feature  spoke,  and  tiiat  fine  expres- 
sive eye,  which  nature  had  given  him,  became  lighted 
up  with  a  fire  which  penetrated  every  heart.  In  him 
we  perceived  no  frothy  declamations,  no  little  arts  to 
captivate  the  vulgar,  none  of  the  tricks  and  flourishes 
of  eloquence,  with  which  the  discourses  of  those 
preachers  who  aim  at  popularity  are  too  frequently 
disgraced.  All  was  sober,  chastened  and  dignified  both 
in  his  matter  and  manner.  A  vein  of  ardent  but  ra- 
tional piety  ran  through  his  discourses  that  warmed 
every  bosom,  and  kept  the  devotional  feelings  in  a  state 
of  agreeable  and  wholesome  excitement.  No  one  re- 
turned from  the  church  in  which  he  had  officiated 
without  being  sensible  his  heart  had  been  made  better, 
his  understanding  furnished  with  useful  aliment  for  re- 
flection, and  his  moral  feelings  softened  and  improved.  In 
his  private  qualities  he  was  no  less  distinguished  than 
in  his  public  character.  His  person  was  somewhat 
above  the  ordinary  size,  his  limbs  well  proportioned, 
his  complexion  fair  and  delicate,  the  features  of  his 
countenance  which  were  regular,  remarkably  hand- 
some, and  strongly  marked  with  the  lines  of  thinking, 
were  crowned  by  an  open  and  manly  forehead  and  a 
large  blue  eye,  in  a  high  degree  expressive  and  pene- 
trating, and  v»^hich,  when  any  thing  interested  him, 
kindled  with  intelligence  and  spoke  the  language  of  an 
ardent  and  noble  mind.  To  a  person  thus  well  pro- 
portioned, he  added  an  agreeable  and  insinuating  ad- 
dress and  an  ease  and  urbanity  of  manners,  that  would 
have  adorned  the  most  polished  circles  and  given  grace 


Life  of  Di\  Smith.  67 

and  dignity  to  a  court.  His  principles  were  all  of  a 
high  and  honourable  kind,  and  bore  the  stamp  of  great- 
ness and  of  the  sternest  integrity.  No  man  had  a  deep- 
er destestation  of  vice,  or  would  more  instinctively  have 
shrunk  from  any  act  that  would  have  cast  a  blemish 
upon  the  purity  of  his  character.  Slander  did,  indeed, 
as  usual,  fabricate  against  him  her  calumnious  tale  and 
essay  to  tarnish  his  reputation,  and  that  envy  which 
could  not  reach  his  excellence  endeavoured  to  bring 
him  down  to  its  own  level,  but  the  uniform  tenor  of  his 
life,  answered  and  refuted  the  aspersions  of  his  detrac- 
tors. In  domestic  life  his  manners  were  amiable,  af- 
fable and  engaging.  As  a  husband,  parent  and  mas- 
ter, no  one  could  be  more  gentle,  affectionate  and  leni- 
ent in  the  exercise  of  disciphne.  To  his  family  he  was 
indulgent  even  to  a  fault.  Arduous  as  were  his  public 
duties,  and  devoted  as  he  was  to  the  pursuit  of  science 
and  literature,  he  found  time  to  assist  in  the  education 
of  his  own  children,  daughters  as  well  as  the  only  son 
that  lived  beyond  the  state  of  infancy;  and  after  repeat- 
ed strokes  of  the  palsy  had  disqualified  him  from  his 
attendance  on  the  duties  of  the  college,  we  find  him 
spending  the  last  remains  of  his  strength  in  educating 
his  little  grand  children,  two  sons  of  a  favourite  daugh- 
ter, Mrs.  Prevost,  whom  he  had  the  misfortune  to  lose 
some  years  after  her  marriage.  With  politics  he  never 
publicly  interfered,  after  the  conclusion  of  the  revolu- 
tionary war,  although  at  its  commencement  in  his  youth, 
he  is  said  to  have  assisted  by  his  eloquent  sermons,  in 
exciting  among  the  people  in  the  state  of  Virginia  a 
spirit  of  resistance  to  the  measures  at  that  time  pro- 

VOL.  I.  1 


58  Life  ofIh\  Smith. 

posed  and  adopted  by  the  parliament  of  England.  He 
was  a  warm  and  decided  friend  to  rational  liberty,  but 
a  determined  enemy  to  that  democratic  rage,  which 
would  level  all  those  distinctions  so  necessary  to  the 
existence  of  society,  pull  down  authorities  and  powers, 
and  under  the  sacred  name  of  liberty,  give  rise  to  a 
general  insubordination  and  licentiousness,  incompati- 
ble with  the  existence  of  a  just  and  equal  government. 
Under  these  impressions,  he  was  a  warm  supporter  of 
the  administration  of  Washington,  and  ranked  among 
those  who,  amidst  the  party  distinctions  of  the  times, 
were  denominated  federalists.  As  a  friend  and  com^ 
panion,  he  is  not  so  highly  to  be  commended  as  for  his 
domestic  qualities.  There  was  a  coldness,  reserve, 
and  even  stateliness  in  his  demeanor,  arising  probably 
from  his  habits  of  abstract  reflection  and  close  appli- 
cation to  study,  which  threw  a  damp  at  first  upon  the 
efforts  of  those  who  were  desirous  of  approaching  him 
on  terms  of  intimacy  and  friendship.  Upon  more  fa- 
miliar intercourse,  however,  this  reserve  was  laid  aside 
towards  those  wiiom  he  esteemed,  and  his  natural  frank- 
ness, cordiality,  and  susceptibility  of  the  tenderest  at- 
tachments, appeared.  Upon  one  thing  his  friends  might 
calculate  with  perfect  confidence,  that  he  would  never 
deceive  them  by  false  appearances.  He  professed  no  re- 
gard which  he  did  not  feel,  and  where  he  made  over- 
tures of  esteem  and  friendship,  it  was  always  done  in 
candour  and  sincerity.  His  generous  and  noble  mind, 
was  infinitely  superior  to  all  dissimulation,  disguise 
or  artifice.  He  was  equally  above  all  intrigue  and 
management  to  promote  his  own  elevation.     The  ho- 


Life  of  Dr.  Smith.  59 

nours  which  were  conferred  upon  him,  came  to  him 
unsought  and  unsoHcited.  To  the  advantages  and 
splendour  which  are  derived  from  wealth,  he  appeared 
to  be  entirely  indifferent.  Of  these  his  own  intrinsic 
worth  and  real  greatness  prevented  from  ever  feeling 
the  want,  while  his  religion  taught  him  to  elevate  his 
views  and  affections  above  them.  His  piety  was  ge- 
nuine and  sincere,  without  being  obtrusive,  deep  and 
heartfelt  without  being  gloomy,  ardent  but  not  noisy, 
active  but  not  ostentatious.  His  uniform  integrity  and 
uprightness  of  conduct,  his  sedulous  devotion  to  all  his 
moral  and  religious  duties,  his  unabated  zeal  for  the 
promotion  of  the  temporal  and  spiritual  interests  of  his 
fellow-men,  the  readiness  and  alacrity  with  which  he 
entered  into  all  plans  of  usefulness,  and  above  all,  his 
calm,  composed  and  happy  exit  from  the  world,  show- 
ed, as  far  as  such  matters  can  be  exhibited  to  the  view 
of  men,  that  he  had  a  good  conscience,  and  that  the 
fear  of  God  reigned  in  his  heart,  and  was  the  ruling 
spring  of  all  his  actions.  He  has  gone  to  his  great  ac- 
count, and  we  doubt  not,  that  his  works  of  piety  and 
virtue  will  follow  him,  and  through  the  mercy  of  his 
Creator,  will  render  his  futurity  as  blessed  as  his  life 
was  exemplary,  and  his  death  tranquil.  The  peace  of 
Heaven  be  with  his  spirit— 111 ustrions  man!  A  pupil 
who  once  revered  thee  as  a  preceptor,  and  whom  thou 
afterwards  didst  honour  with  thy  friendship,  would 
erect  to  thee  this  frail  monument,  as  a  momento  at 
once  of  his  gratitude  and  attachment.  By  the  efforts 
of  thy  genius  thou  hast  reared  for  thyself,  an  imperish- 
able monument.    Long  shall  thy  memory  be  cherished 


60  lAfe  of  Dr.  Smith. 

by  the  friends  of  science  and  virtue,  of  religion  and  thy 
country,  of  which  thou  wast  so  bright  an  ornament. 
May  thy  mantle  fall  upon  thy  successors  in  the  pulpit, 
and  thy  spirit  and  eloquence  be  caught,  in  promulging 
the  doctrines  of  thy  Divine  Master.  Taught  by  thy 
great  and  good  example,  may  future  divines  and  orators 
of  the  pulpit,  place  their  chief  glory  in  the  triumphs  of 
their  sacred  eloquence  over  the  vices  and  passions  of 
mankind,  and  in  conducting  them  by  the  charm  of  a 
virtuous  and  pious  life  in  the  ways  of  peace  and  salva- 
tion. 


SERMONS. 


SERMONS. 


FELIX  TREMBLING  BEFORE  PAUL. 

"  And  as  he  reasoned  of  righteousness,  temperance,  and  judgment  to 
come,  Felix  trembled." — Acts  xxiv.  25. 

Christians!  you  see  in  the  apostle  Paul  before  the 
tribunal  of  the  Roman  governor,  the  example,  at  once 
of  a  great  orator,  and  a  faithful  minister  of  Jesus 
Christ.  Accused  by  the  high  priest  and  elders  of  the 
Jewish  nation  of  being  a  seditious  disturber  of  the  pub- 
lic peace,  and  of  profaning  their  holy  temple,  and  the 
sacred  mysteries  of  their  religion,  he  defended  himself 
with  the  simplicity  and  energy  of  truth,  and  with  the 
generous  fervour  of  conscious  innocence,  against  all 
the  arts  of  that  mercenary  orator  by  whom  they  at- 
tempted to  support  their  charges.  Leaving  to  Tertul- 
lus  those  base  flatteries  which  were  only  designed  to 
gain  the  ear  of  corrupted  power;  Paul,  in  his  noble 
and  manly  defence  of  himself,  although  always  respect- 
ful, as  became  a  prisoner  to  the  magistrate  before 
whom  he  was  arraigned,  seemed  never  once  to  forget 
his  dignity  as  a  man,  or  his  authority  as  an  apostle. 
Felix,  charmed  with  his  eloquence,  and,  probably  hav- 


64  Felix  trembling  before  Paul. 

ing  his  curiosity  excited  to  learn  something  more  cer- 
tain concerning  that  new  religion  which,  under  such  an 
able  advocate,  was  beginning  to  make  the  most  impor- 
tant revolutions  in  the  state  of  society  and  of  public 
opinion,  desired  to  hear  him  again  on  this  interesting 
subject.  It  was  with  a  view  apparently  so  just  and 
honourable,  that  he  came  with  great  pomp  to  the  place 
of  their  judicial  assemblies,  accompanied  by  his  nomi- 
nal wife,  the  object  of  a  criminal  passion,  to  whom  he 
desired  to  give  the  pleasure  of  hearing  so  celebrated  an 
orator  upon  questions  which  were  then  agitating  all 
Judea  and  the  world. 

The  apostle,  with  the  faithfulness  which  became  a 
minister  of  God,  spoke  concerning  the  faith  in  Christ, 
and  unfolded  to  him  those  sublime  and  astonishing  doc- 
trines which  distinguish  the  gospel  from  all  the  systems 
of  Pagan  theology; — the  descent  of  the  Son  of  God 
from  heaven, — the  great  oblation  which  he  offered  for 
the  sins  of  the  world, — the  resurrection  of  the  dead, — 
an  immortal  existence  beyond  the  grave,  and  the  ever- 
lasting retributions  which  await  the  righteous  and  the 
wicked.  When,  in  the  progress  of  his  discourse,  he 
came  to  treat  of  the  moral  precepts  of  the  gospel,  with 
great  address  he  turned  the  force  of  his  eloquence  to 
illustrate  and  press  those  virtues  chiefly,  for  the  viola- 
tion of  which  his  illustrious  hearer  was  most  culpable, 
and  had  even  become  infamous  throughout  Judea. 
These  topics  he  appears,  from  the  effects  produced  on 
the  conscience  of  Felix,  to  have  urged  with  irresisti- 
ble energy.  He  spoke  of  righteousness,  or  justice,  the 
basis  of  all  our  social  relations;  and  of  temperance. 


Felix  trembling  before  Paul.  Q5 

«r  the  moderation  of  all  our  appetites  and  passions,  the 
foundation  of  personal  purity  and  perfection,  before  a 
governor  who  was  equally  detested  in  his  province  for 
his  iniquities,  his  cruelties,  and  his  voluptuousness.  The 
discourse  of  the  apostle  began  at  length  to  reach  his 
inmost  feelings;  he  searched  his  heart  with  the  awful 
light  of  truth;  he  held  up  to  him  the  mirror  of  his  life; 
and  while  he  depicted  the  beauty  of  virtue,  the  tranquil- 
lity and  peace  which  it  imparts  to  the  innocent  and  up- 
right breast,  and  the  glory  and  the  honest  fame  with 
which  it  surrounds  the  humane  prince,  he  presented 
to  him,  in  the  strongest  colours,  the  iniquity  and  the 
horrible  consequences  of  his  past  crimes.  Never, 
perhaps,  before  had  he  seen  himself  in  his  true  charac- 
ter, and  he  now  began  to  be  agitated  with  unusual  in- 
quietudes. But  when  the  holy  and  fervent  preacher 
came,  at  length,  to  denounce  the  vengeance  of  heaven 
against  such  iniquities,  and  disclose  to  his  view  the 
terrors  of  a  judgment  to  come,  Felix,  unable  any  longer 
to  contain  his  emotions,  trembled  on  the  throne  on 
which  he  sat.  Admirable  force  of  truth!  that  could  thus 
penetrate  a  heart  grown  old  in  vice,  inflated  by  the  in- 
cessant flatteries  of  parasites,  dazzled  with  the  splen- 
dours of  power,  and  rendered  obdurate  by  the  enormi- 
ty of  his  crimes.  It  arrested  the  prince,  and  convert- 
ed the  judge  into  the  criminal.  lie  trembled  before 
Paul,  who  had  been  brought  a  prisoner,  loaded  with 
chains,  into  his  presence. 

My  object  in  the  present  discourse  is  briefly  to  re- 
view the  subjects  of  the  apostle^s  reasoning,  and  to 
point  out, 

VOL.  I.  K 


66  Felix  trembling  before  Paul 

1.  In  the  first  place,  the  reference  which  they  bore 
to  the  history  and  character  of  the  Roman  governor, 
and, 

2.  In  the  next  place,  the  application  which  may  he 
made  of  them  to  our  own  state. 

1.  Righteousness,  or  justice,  of  which  St.  Paul  lirst 
reasoned,  comprehended,  according  to  the  ideas  of  the 
ancients,  and  the  distribution  of  the  virtues  made  in 
their  schools,  the  duties  both  of  equity,  and  of  benefi- 
cence. The  faithful  execution  of  all  our  civil  functions, 
our  domestic  duties,  the  equity  which  we  owe  to  others 
in  our  commerce  with  them,  the  compassion  which  we 
should  extend  to  affliction  and  want;  in  a  word,  all  the 
charities  of  life  were  embraced  under  this  name;  and, 
perhaps,  not  without  reason.  For  every  act  of  benefi- 
cence which  the  miseries  of  our  fellow-creatures  re- 
quire, every  kindness  and  comfort  which  they  need, 
and  which  it  is  in  our  power  to  bestow,  is  strictly  an 
office  of  justice  due  from  man  to  man.  jigainst  this 
duty,  in  every  branch  of  it,  Felix  was  a  high  offender. 
In  the  exercise  of  his  government,  he  was  equally  un- 
just and  unfeehng,  avaricious  and  cruel:  vices  which 
so  often  are  found  together  in  corrupt  rulers.  The  an- 
nals of  Judea  and  of  Rome,  inform  us  that  he  sported 
with  the  lives  and  liberties  of  the  people  of  his  govern- 
ment. Under  the  most  frivolous  and  iniquitous  pretences 
he  robbed  the  wealthy,  and  caused  the  innocent  to  be 
put  to  death.  His  troops,  accustomed  to  blood,  he  often 
employed  in  the  most  wanton  acts  of  violence  and 
carnage.  Prompted  at  once  by  avarice  and  prodigality, 
he  plundered  his  province  to  enrich  himself;  the  deci- 


Felix  trembling  before  Paul.  67 

sioiis  of  his  tribunals  were  always  at  auction;  he  ex- 
pected money  of  Paul  to  restore  him  to  that  liberty 
which  the  laws  of  Rome,  and  of  human  nature  entitled 
him  to  enjoy.  A  Roman  historian*  has  said  of  him, 
that  he  exercised  the  power  of  a  prince  with  a  base 
and  mercenary  soul.  And,  when  he  returned  to  the 
seat  of  empire,  public  accusers,  and  the  universal  com- 
plaint of  his  province  followed  him  to  the  presence  of 
the  emperor;  and  nothing  but  the  powerful  interposi- 
tion of  his  brother,  who  happened  to  be,  at  that  time, 
a  favourite  in  the  palace,  preserved  him  from  suffering 
the  merited  punishment  of  his  crimes.  Such  was  the 
character  of  this  famous  governor  before  whom  the 
great  apostle  was  called  to  plead  the  cause  of  justice 
and  humanity.  After  tracing  these  virtues  to  their 
sources  in  the  principles  of  human  nature,  in  the  great 
interests  of  society  and  mankind,  in  the  will  of  God; 
after  exhibiting  in  strong  and  beautiful  colours,  the 
dignity  and  worth  of  an  upright  character,  the  glory 
of  a  prince  who  presides  with  justice  over  his  people, 
the  amiability  of  the  humane  and  benevolent  feelings, 
those  powerful  cements  of  the  order  and  felicity  of  the 
great  family  of  man,  that  he  might  aggravate  the  pic- 
ture of  iniquity  and  inhumanity  which  he  intended  to 
draw;— how,  may  we  suppose,  would  he  depict  the 
crime  of  trampling,  by  his  injustice  and  violence,  on 
the  laws  of  God  and  man;  of  rending  asunder  the 
peaceful  bonds  of  society.'^  of  violating  that  happy  se- 
curity of  the  citizen  in  his  condition  which  the  laws 
were  intended  to  protect.'^  and,  instead  of  presiding, 

*  Tacitus. 


68  Felix  trembling  before  Paul. 

like  a  guardian  angel,  over  the  public  prosperity,  for 
which  purpose  alone  power  was  entrusted  to  his 
hands,  carrying  desolation  and  terror  throughout  the 
nation,  and  invading  with  rapine,  lust,  and  blood,  the 
recesses  of  domestic  happiness?  With  what  energy 
would  he  address  the  heart;  what  appeals  would  he 
make  to  the  conscience  of  his  judge? — 1  seem  to  see 
the  fervid  and  indignant  preacher  call  up  to  his  awa- 
kened imagination  the  spectres  of  so  many  murders 
which  had  been  conmiitted  by  his  orders;  surround  his 
tribunal  with  the  cries  of  widows  and  of  orphans, 
whose  husbands  and  fathers  he  had  caused  to  be  drag- 
ged to  prison  and  to  death, — besiege  his  heart  by  the 
groans  or  the  silent  griefs  of  whole  families  reduced 
to  beggary  and  despair  for  imputed  crimes,  and  ruined 
by  the  enormous  sums  at  which  they  were  obliged  to 
purchase  a  precarious  justice;  or  given  up  to  plunder 
because  they  refused  or  were  unable  to  purchase  it. 
These  images  presented  with  all  the  strength  of  co- 
louring which  the  eloquence  of  so  great  a  master  would 
give  them,  could  not  fail  to  disquiet  the  heart  of  his 
guilty  hearer.  His  busy  and  disturbed  fancy  would  re- 
call to  him,  ill  one  moment,  all  the  iniquities  of  his  life. 
Conscience  shook  him  with  its  awful  power:  and,  though 
surrounded  by  his  guards,  and  by  a  magnificent  retinue 
which  would  awaken  all  his  pride,  he  was  seen  to  trem- 
ble in  the  presence  of  his  humble  prisoner. 

2.  The  apostle  treated,  in  the  next  place,  of  temper- 
ance; a  term  of  more  extensive  signification  in  the  ori- 
ginal language,  than  in  our  tongue,  comprehending  not 
only  moderation  in  the  pleasures  of  the  table,  but  the 


Felix  trembling  before  Paul.  69 

due  government  of  all  our  senses,  appetites,  and  pas- 
sions. This  topic  of  the  apostle's  discourse,  not  less 
than  the  former,  came  home  to  the  bosom  and  experi- 
ence of  his  illustrious  hearer. 

Felix,  whose  province  was  equal  to  kingdoms,  and 
whose  rank  was  superior  to  that  of  the  tributaiy  prin- 
ces of  the  Roman  empire,  lived  in  all  the  splendor  of 
Asiatic  luxury,  and  abandoned  himself  to  that  shame- 
less intemperance  in  meats  and  wines  which,  at  that 
period,  so  often  disgraced  the  conduct  of  the  imperial 
lieutenants,  who  enjoyed  and  abused  the  opportunity 
of  raking  the  wealth  of  nations  into  their  private  cof- 
fers. But,  intemperance  in  wine  was  to  him  only  the 
fuel  of  intemperate  lust,  which  rank  and  power  gave 
him  the  means,  and  the  imaginary  privilege  of  indulg- 
ing without  restraint  and  without  shame.  Of  this, 
Drusilla,  who  sat  by  his  side  at  that  moment,  afforded 
an  example  which  could  not  fail  to  strike  every  spec- 
tator. She  was  the  daughter  of  the  first  Agrippa,  and 
the  lawful  wife  of  the  king  of  Emesa.  But,  seduced 
by  the  licentious  arts  of  the  Roman,  flattered  with  the 
splendor  of  imperial  favour,  and  of  a  station  exalted 
above  that  of  kings,  and  burning  herself  with  a  dis- 
graceful passion,  she  causelessly  broke  the  holy  tie 
which  united  her  to  her  husband,  and,  deserting  his 
palace,  plunged  into  the  bosom  of  corruption  in  a  new 
and  infamous  connexion. 

Drusilla  was  a  princess  of  the  Jewish  nation;  and 
the  high  priest  daring,  with  a  manly  fortitude,  to  repre- 
hend such  a  violation  of  their  holy  law,  and  of  common 


70  Felix  trembling  before  Paul. 

decency,  Felix  procured  the  courageous  and  upright 
pontiff  to  be  assassinated. 

What  a  field  would  these  enormities  open  to  the 
apostle,  to  display  the  guilt,  and  the  horrible  conse- 
quences of  his  licentious  appetites,  and  unbridled  pas- 
sions? Not  to  speak  of  the  degradation  of  a  reasonable 
and  immortal  nature  wallowino-  in  the  low  excesses  of 
the  table,  not  to  speak  of  the  madness  and  fury  of  a 
tyrant  inflamed  by  wine,  and  his  utter  abandonment, 
in  that  state,  of  all  the  principles  of  humanity;  with 
what  lioly  ardor  and  indignation  would  he  dwell  on 
the  fatal  consequences  of  that  lust,  the  victim  of  which 
he  saw  before  him  on  the  throne  withFehx?  To  what 
disorders  in  society,  to  what  crimes  has  it  not  given 
birth?  What  dark  jealousies,  what  insidious  plots, 
what  worse  than  barbarian  cruelties  have  sprung  from 
a  passion  which  claims,  at  the  same  time,  to  be  the 
softest  in  the  human  breast?  What  humiliation,  what 
shame,  what  unceasing  tears  has  it  created  to  inno- 
cence seduced  and  ruined?  For  an  instant  of  guilty 
pleasure,  what  cold,  what  joyless  what  disconsolate 
hours  must  succeed  of  neglect  and  self-reproach!  or, 
if  tempted  to  extinguish  feeling  in  a  life  of  profligacy, 
what  infamy! 

But,  on  this  subject,  and  in  the  presence  of  such  an 
audience,  would  not  the  faithful  apostle  turn  the  prin- 
cipal force  and  point  of  his  discourse  on  the  sacred- 
ness  of  the  conjugal  tie?  on  the  peace  and  harmony  of 
families?  on  the  relation  of  this  holy  union  to  the  pub- 
lic morals?  on  the  cruelty  of  robbing  a  worthy  man  of 
the  pure  affections  of  a  virtuous  wife?  the  villainy  of 


Felix  trembling  before  Paul.  71 

introducing  distrust  and  shame,  and  all  the  exquisite 
miseries  of  disappointed  affection  and  tarnished  hon- 
our, into  those  peaceful  mansions,  that  sweet  asylum 
of  human  happiness,  where  love  and  chastity  only 
should  reign?  In  what  strong  and  glowing  colours 
would  he  not  represent  the  superior  guilt  of  those  who, 
sitting  in  the  seat  of  the  law,  are  the  first  to  violate  its 
justice  and  order?  who,  having  the  peace  and  purity  of 
domestic  manners  under  their  protection,  carry  into 
them  nothing  but  pollution?  who,  having  the  supreme 
charge  of  the  public  morals,  give  every  where  the 
most  open  and  scandalous  examples  of  pubhc  vice? 
Felix,  conscious  of  the  point  and  application  which  all 
these  truths  bore  to  himself;  condemned  by  his  own 
reason,  by  his  reflections,  by  the  light  flashed  upon 
him  by  the  eloquence  of  the  apostle,  seems  to  have  felt 
each  moment  increase  the  compunction  which  had  al- 
ready seized  him,  the  fears  which  had  already  begun 
to  agitate  him. 

3.  His  confusion  seems  to  have  been  completed, 
when  the  sacred  orator  proceeded  to  expose  to  his 
view  the  tremendous  certainty,  and  awful  retributions 
of  a  judgment  to  come.  Amidst  all  the  errors  and  fol- 
lies of  Paganism,  in  which  Fehx  had  been  educated, 
some  vestiges  were  still  preserved  of  this  sublime  doc- 
trine, although  obscured,  and  weakened  in  its  influ- 
ence on  the  mind,  by  the  fables  of  the  poets,  and  the 
doubts  of  the  philosophers.  The  law  of  God  written  on 
the  heart,  and  the  inextinguishable  voice  of  conscience, 
preserved  so  high  and  important  a  principle  of  morals 
from  entirely  perishing;  and  offered  to  the  apostle  a 


12  Felix  trembling  before  Paul. 

foundation  on  which  to  erect  the  superstructure  of  his 
reasoning.  And,  when  he  exhibited  to  FeHx  the  na- 
ture and  perfection  of  the  Supreme  Deity,  so  awful  to 
guilt,  his  eternal  being,  his  almighty  power,  his  infinite 
holiness,  his  inflexible  justice,  which  will  reward  in 
terrible  righteousness  the  iniquities  of  sinners;  when  he 
turned  his  attention  inward  to  the  dictates  of  that  judge 
which  God  has  placed  in  our  own  breasts,  and  showed 
him  how  those  dictates  point  to  a  supreme  tribunal, 
and  the  fearful  decisions  of  eternal  justice:  these  ideas, 
so  consentaneous  to  reason  and  nature,  were  calcula- 
ted to  take  a  deep  hold  on  the  heart  even  of  a  pagan, 
who,  by  his  crimes,  had  roused  upon  him  all  the  force 
of  his  conscience. 

The  apostle  having  so  far  gained  the  attention  of 
Felix,  to  truths  which  appear  to  have  their  foundation 
in  the  most  certain  principles  of  nature,  would  be  pre- 
pared to  declare  to  him  those  awful  circumstances  of 
the  final  judgment  which  transcend  the  discoveries  of 
nature,  and  can  be  made  known  to  man  only  by  the 
holy  spirit  of  inspiration.  With  what  majesty,  then, 
would  the  herald  of  heaven  announce  to  the  iniquitous 
governor,  and  to  that  vast  assembly  which  had  come 
together  on  this  occasion,  that  God  hath  appointed  a 
day  in  which  he  will  judge  the  world  in  righteousness; 
wherein  every  man  shall  receive  according  to  the  works 
that  he  hath  done,  whether  they  have  been  good,  or 
whether  they  have  been  evil?  With  what  grandeur  and 
terror  would  he  paint  to  their  imagination  the  heavens 
on  fire,  and  wrapt  together  as  a  scroll, — the  sun  and 
moon  extinguished  in  their  orbits,  and  the  earth,  and 


Felix  trembling  before  Paul.  7S 

the  elements  melting  with  a  fervent  heat!  would  he  re- 
present the  judge  descending  with  the  voice  of  the  arch- 
angel, and  the  trump  of  God,  assembling  before  him 
all  the  nations  of  the  dead  and  of  the  living,  and  erect- 
ing his  tribunal  on  the  flaming  ruins  of  the  universe? 
Would  he  display  to  their  view  that  fearful  gulf  of  fire 
destined  for  the  punishment  of  the  impenitent;  and  un- 
cover before  him,  as  it  were,  the  smoke  of  their  tor- 
ments,  which  ascendeth  forever  and  ever?    Would  he 
depict  the  consternation  of  sinners,  the  terrors  of  guilt, 
and  the  utter  impotence  of  all  human  power  to  resist 
the  decrees  of  omnipotent  justice! — Yes,  that  sovereign 
judge  hath  erected  a  tribunal  before  which  shall  appear 
princes  as  well  as  the  meanest  of  their  subjects;  the 
great  and  noble  of  the  earth,  as  well  as  the  dependant 
and  the  poor;  I  your  humble  prisoner,  and  Cassar  your 
lord  and  mine.    There,  not  rank  and  fortune,  but  cha- 
racter and  conduct  shall  form  the  great  distinctions 
among  mankind.     There  shall  be  judged  with  equal 
justice,  the  prince  w  ho  here  was  above  the  law,  and 
the  friendless  wretch  who  was  its  victim.     And  the 
crimes  which  now  awaken  in  the  bosom  of  guilt  so 
many  anxious  forebodings,  shall  there  be  seen  to  sur- 
round the  sinner  as  terrible  witnesses  against  him  in 
the  day  of  judgment.  The  horrible  revellings  of  intem- 
perance shall  convert  their  brutal  pleasures  into  instru- 
ments of  torture.    The  tears  of  violated  innocence,  the 
sighs  of  those  unhappy  victims  who  have  been  first  se- 
duced from  virtue,  and  then  abandoned  to  shame  and 
wretchedness,  the  injuries  of  ruined  families,  the  blood 
of  those  who  have  perished  by  the  injustice  of  power, 

VOL.  I.  L 


74  Felix  trembling  before  Paul. 

will  cry  from  the  earth  for  vengeance  on  the  head  of 
guilt.  Felix,  convinced,  penetrated,  condemned  by 
his  own  heart,  felt,  in  a  moment,  all  his  courage  for- 
sake him.  The  imperial  governor  trembles!  his  pride 
cannot  support  him,  his  legions  cannot  protect  him. 
He  trembles  in  the  face  of  his  guards,  and  of  that  vast 
concourse  assembled  on  such  a  public  and  interesting 
occasion. 

The  Roman  orator  once  made  the  instrument  of 
condemnation  drop  from  the  hand  of  Csesar:  but  here 
the  criminal  favourite  of  Caesar,  a  prince  only  inferior 
to  the  emperor  himself,  in  magnificence,  in  power,  and 
pride,  is  made  to  write  his  own  condemnation,  in  the 
terrors  depicted  on  his  countenance,  in  the  strong  agi- 
tations of  his  whole  frame,  in  his  haste  to  dismiss  the 
penetrating  preacher.  Oh!  to  have  been  witness,  said 
an  ancient  father  of  the  church,  to  those  divine  strains 
of  eloquence  which  flowed  from  this  great  apostle! 

My  brethren,  let  us,  instead  of  indulging  a  vain  re- 
gret at  no  longer  enjoying  the  pleasure  of  admiring  and 
being  edified  by  those  divine  talents  which  shall  never 
more  appear  upon  the  earth,  rather  set  ourselves  to  in- 
quire into  those  practical  lessons  of  morality  and  duty, 
those  reproofs  and  admonitions,  which  we  may  de- 
rive from  this  portion  of  sacred  history. 

2.  This  was  the  second  object  of  our  discourse. 

Not  invested  with  the  power,  we  have  neither  beeH 
exposed  to  the  temptations,  nor  enjoyed  the  opportuni- 
ties of  becoming  so  criminal  as  this  Roman  prince.  We 
may  even  think,  as  Hazael,  while  he  yet  remained  in 
an  humble  station,  that  we  are  incapable  of  the  same 


Felix  trembling  hefor$  Paul.  75 

enormities.     But,  if  we  carefully  examine  our  hearts, 
we  may,  perhaps,  find  there  the  seeds  of  the  same  ini- 
quities, which  require  only  the  sun  of  prosperity  to  ri- 
pen them  into  act.     Often  do  the  smallest  ebullitions 
of  turpitude  and  vice  even  in  our  most  unguarded  ac- 
tions, betray  a  hidden  fountain   of  impurity  within, 
which  is  ready,  whenever  external  obstructions  are  re- 
moved, to  overflow  with  the  waters  of  foulness  and  cor- 
ruption.    Do  we  see  a  man  void  of  sensibility  for  the 
miseries  of  his  fellow-creatures?     Do  we  see  one  who 
is  ever  ready  to  extort  from  penury  its  last  farthing.^ 
Who,  absorbed  in  his  own  interests,  shuns  the  view  of 
distress  and  want,  lest  it  should  make  some  unwelcome 
claim  upon  his  charity.'^     We  see  the  principles  of  all 
the  iniquities  which  naturally  spring  from  pride  and 
selfishness,  from  avarice  and  inhumanity  exalted   to 
power? 

The  crimes  of  Fehx,  indeed,  appear  with  the  high- 
er aggravations,  because  his  power  and  rank  at  once 
gave  force  to  his  passions,  and  enabled  them  to  move 
in  a  wider  and  more  destructive  sphere.     But  do  we 
not  perceive  the  same  unrighteous  spirit  continually 
operating  throughout  society,  according  to  the  extent 
of  its  opportunities  and  its  means?     What  iniquitous 
transactions  in  commerce  are  often  covered  by  a  spe- 
cious fraud!    What  a  horrible  abuse  have  we  seen 
made  of  the  confidence  of  friends,  involving  them,  with 
cool  deliberate  cruelty,  in  the  ruins  of  a  falling  fortune! 
What  project  of  speculation,  which  are  at  least  of 
doubtful  honesty;  what  hazardous  enterprises  in  trade; 
what  a  style  of  luxury  in  living,  which  no  means  of 


76  Felix  trembling  hefme  Paul. 

fairness  and  integrity  can  support,  are  plunging,  not 
the  culpable  alone,  but  all  who  are  connected  with 
them,  into  the  deepest  distress,  if  not  into  absolute  ruin! 
Good  faith  is  betrayed,  friendship  is  sacrificed,  families 
are  hurled  from  affluence  and  respectability  into  the 
abyss  of  affliction;  and  the  guilt  of  the  destroyers  as- 
cends to  heaven,  loaded  with  the  sorrows  of  so  many 
unhappy  victims.  And,  how  frequently,  alas!  have  we 
lately  beheld  fraud,  grown  great  on  the  spoils  of  un- 
suspecting faith,  display,  with  insolence,  its  fastuous 
equipages  in  the  view  of  the  misery  which  it  has  crea- 
ted, and  rear  the  scandalous  edifices  of  its  vanity  on 
the  sighs  and  tears  of  those  whom  it  has  plundered! 

But  descending  from  such  great  enormities  to  those 
narrow  plans,  those  low  tricks  of  dishonesty  which  of- 
ten take  place  among  the  inferior  classes  of  fortune; — 
is  not  that  spirit  of  extortion  which  is  ready  to  exact 
upon  the  necessities  of  a  neighbour;  that  low  cunning 
which  studies  to  overreach  his  candoaror  inexperience 
in  a  bargain;  that  pitiful  deceit  which  would  detract  an 
inch  from  the  measure  or  an  ounce  from  the  weight 
of  the  smallest  articles  of  your  commerce,  a  crime  in 
your  sphere  equivalent  to  the  greater  robberies  of  ini- 
quitous power?  Shall  I  count  him  pure,  saith  God,  with 
the  wicked  balances,  loith  the  bag  of  deceitful  weights? — 
No;  the  Supreme  Judge  of  heaven  and  earth  beholds, 
and  will  punish  the  iniquities  of  the  heart,  however  they 
may  be  laid,  by  the  force  of  circumstances,  under  re- 
straint in  their  operations.  They  want  only  power  and 
a  theatre,  to  exhibit  themselves  in  all  the  enormities  of 
rapine  and  oppression  which  disgraced  the  tyranny  of 


Felix  trembling  before  Paul.  77 

Felix.  God  beholds  in  these  elements  of  iniquity,  if  I 
may  call  them  so,  the  crimes  to  which,  without  the 
restraints  of  his  providence,  they  would  grow;  and  will 
cast  them  out  with  abhorrence  from  the  presence  of 
his  glory,  in  the  light  of  which  no  unrighteousness  can 
dwell. 

In  the  next  place,  you  have  seen  this  illustrious  sin- 
ner giving  an  unbridled  indulgence  to  all  his  licentious 
appetites.  You  have  seen  him  in  his  career  of  intem- 
perance, and  of  the  bold  and  unblushing  violation  of  all 
the  laws  of  chastity  and  decency,  which  have  attracted 
upon  him  the  reproaches  and  execrations  of  succeed- 
ing ages.  But,  in  looking  round  this  assembly,  do  I 
see  none  before  me,  who,  with  shameful  obedience  to 
the  impulses  of  a  gross  appetite,  daily  offer  up  their 
reason  at  the  shrine  of  intemperance  and  debauchery? 
What  effect  would  the  fortunes  and  the  power  of  Felix 
have  on  such  persons,  but  only  to  enable  them  more 
completely  to  destroy  in  their  hearts  all  the  nobler  af- 
fections of  human  nature.''  Husbands!  who  sacrifice  by 
intemperance  the  peace  and  comfort  of  those  delicate 
females  who,  by  a  mistaken  affection,  have  put  their 
happiness  in  your  power; — Parents!  who  neglect  the 
culture,  the  honour,  the  protection  of  those  unfortunate 
children,  to  whom  you  have  been  the  cause  of  giving 
existence,  only  to  leave  them  afterwards  a  prey  to  ig- 
norance and  vice; — Debauched  sons!  who  pay  no  re- 
gard to  the  fond  hopes,  the  anxious  solicitudes  of  pa- 
rents, whose  secret  prayers  and  vows  continually  as- 
cending to  heaven  for  you,  who  are  callous  equally  to 
their  admonitions  and  their  tears,  who  can  wound  their 


78  Felix  trembling  before  Paul 

tenderest  feelings,  who,  in  order  to  obtain  the  means 
of  your  own  criminal  indulgence,  can  undutifully  im- 
pose, by  false  tales,  upon  their  unsuspecting  affection 
— behold  in  yourselves,  crimes  which,  in  their  princi- 
ple, vie  in  malignity  with  those  of  this  guilty  ruler  who 
trembled  at  the  development  of  their  enormity  by  the 
holy  apostle.  Ah!  the  sighs  of  those  parents,  the  shame, 
the  vices  of  those  children  forsaken  by  you,  or  corrupt- 
ed by  your  example;  the  griefs  of  that  wife  who  finds 
in  you  no  friend,  no  companion,  whose  soul  is  wasting 
away  under  your  barbarous  neglect,  or  your  insulting 
cruelty,  shall  call  down  from  heaven  the  vengeance  of 
eternal  justice.  Such  are  some  of  the  crimes  of  that 
intemperance  which  perverts,  corrupts,  and  eventually 
destroys  all  the  best  powers  of  human  nature,  and  the 
best  affections  of  the  human  heart. 

The  character  of  this  degenerate  Roman  affords  an 
additional  point  of  comparison,  in  the  excesses  to  which 
he  indulged  a  licentious  passion,  whence  another  in- 
structive and  practical  lesson  may  be  drawn. 

No  passion  more  debases  and  contaminates  the  soul; 
none  renders  it  more  gross  in  its  enjoyments,  and  more 
incapable  of  tasting  the  pure  pleasures  of  virtue  and 
piety;  none  more  certainly  excludes  it  from  the  man- 
sions of  a  holy  and  eternal  love.  Could  I  represent  to 
you  in  the  glowing  colours,  and  with  the  generous  in- 
dignation of  that  divine  preacher  who  made  Felix  trem- 
ble, the  gulf  into  which  it  sinks  the  soul;  could  I  depict 
its  scenes  of  pollution,  and  the  multiphed  and  exquisite 
miseries  which  often  spring  thence;  could  I  present  to 
you  the  bosom  of  chaste  love  wounded  and  bleeding  in 


Felix  trembling  before  Paul.  79 

secret;  the  shame,  the  remorse,  the  eternal  tears  of  be- 
trayed and  ruined  innocence;  the  jealousies,  the  rage, 
the  crimes  of  a  passion,  as  cruel  as  it  is  effeminate  and 
dissolute,  its  infamy  and  guilt  would  flash  with  horror 
upon  the  heart! 

But,  what  though  you  do  not  riot  in  all  the  voluptu- 
ousness which  countless  and  iniquitous  treasures  ena- 
bled him  to  purchase,  or  despotic  power  enabled  him  to 
command?  Yet,  if  you  are  faithful  to  yourselves,  and 
to  truth,  may  you  not  find  in  your  hearts  the  seeds  of 
all  those  passions  which  pierced  even  his  callous  con- 
science with  remorse? 

But  I  will  not  offend  the  ears  of  this  assembly  by 
speakingof  their  grosser  pollutions,  which  it  is  difficult 
even  to  reproach  with  decency.  Are  there  not  lower 
degrees  of  these  vices  in  which  a  sensual  heart  will  of- 
ten indulge  itself  without  restraint,  and  which  it  will 
employ  all  the  sophistries  of  a  corrupted  reason  to  jus- 
tify and  defend?  Do  you  delight  to  amuse  the  fancy 
with  those  loose  images  which  a  remaining  modesty, 
perhaps,  still  restrains  you  from  realizing  in  a  dissolute 
practice?  Do  you  permit  yourselves  to  abuse  the  free- 
dom and  gayety  of  conversation  by  indelicate  allusions, 
and  double  meanings?  Do  you  attend  with  pleasure, 
and  even  seek  for  opportunities  to  attend  those  exhibi- 
tions which  are  calculated  to  inflame  the  passions  and 
corrupt  the  modesty  of  youth?  Do  you  love  to  stimu- 
late an  impure  imagination  by  those  indecent  pictures, 
those  licentious  odes,  which  a  shameful  abuse  of  the 
arts  has  employed  to  infect  the  manners  of  society? 
Ah!  God,  who  beholds  the  consequence  in  the  princi- 


80  Felix  Iremblhig  before  Paul. 

pie,  sees,  in  these  elements  of  vice,  the  essence  of  those 
crimes  into  which  it  is  to  be  feared  that  time,  and  op- 
portunity, and  habit,  will  at  length  ripen  them; — crimes, 
which  made  an  illustrious  and  most  obdurate  offender 
to  tremble  on  his  own  tribunal,  and  will  cause  him, 
one  day,  to  tremble  more  horribly  before  the  tribunal 
of  a  higher  judge.  To  that  awful  bar,  at  which  we,  and 
all  men  must  stand  at  last,  permit  me  for  a  moment, 
in  the  close  of  this  discourse,  to  direct  your  thoughts. 
Nothing,  perhaps,  will  serve  to  impose  a  more  effectu- 
al check  upon  the  disorders  of  the  heart,  and  of  the 
life,  than  the  serious  remembrance  that  God  hath  ap- 
pointed a  day  in  which  he  will  judge  the  world  in  righ- 
teousness.    It  is  a  fearful  consideration  to  guilt,  that, 
/(W'  every  idle  word,  and  for  every  idle  thought,  we  shall 
render  account  to  God.  In  this  judgment  all  the  depths 
of  the  soul  shall  be  searched  by  a  severe  and  omniscient 
eye.  God  shall  judge  the  secrets  of  all  hearts.  Actions 
which  had  been  long  forgotten,  actions  which  had  been 
studiously  concealed  from  the  world,  which  self-love 
had  endeavoured  to  conceal  from  itself,  shall  there  be 
recalled  from  their  darkness  and  oblivion,  and  exposed 
in  the  dreadful  light  of  eternity.  Under  the  impression 
of  these  solemn  and  awful  truths,  frequently  re-enter 
your  own  breasts,  and  judge  yourselves  with  the  same 
spirit  with  which  you  shall  be  judged.    Ah!  sinners  of 
every  grade; — unjust,  intemperate,  Hcentious — avari- 
cious, envious,  selfish — proud,  haughty,  disdainful — 
hard-hearted,  unkind,  uncharitable — slanderers,  back- 
biters, disturbers  of  the  harmony  of  society — impious, 
disloyal,  undutiful!  look  up  to  that  tribunal  where  no 


Felix  trembling  before  Paul.  8 1 

sill  shall  escape  its  just  condemnation;  where  no  veil 
shall  conceal  it;  where  no  sophistry  shall  protect  or 
palliate  it;  and  where,  also,  that  witness,  that  serpent 
within  shall  wring  the  heart  with  undescribable  an- 
guish. Thence  cast  your  eye  down  to  that  fearful  abyss 
of  everlasting  darkness  and  fire,  ready  to  receive  the 
reprobate  children  of  wrath:  and,  as  they  descend  into 
it,  listen  to  the  shrieks  of  their  despair  ^vhich  add  aug- 
mented horrors  to  the  last  groans  of  the  universe!— 
But  alas!  when  I  would  represent  to  you  the  terrors  of 
that  judgment,  the  holiness  and  majesty  of  that  tribu- 
nal I  feel  the  impotence  of  my  own  powers!  Oh!  that 
Paul  himself,  glowing  with  the  inspiration  of  Heaven, 
could  address  you  with  the  same  voice  which  made  the 
tyrant  of  Judea  tremble!  But  thou,  most  blessed,  and 
Holy  Spirit!  thou  canst  give  effect  even  to  the  feeble- 
ness of  our  words! — Strike!  penetrate  our  hearts!  and 
make  the  sinner  tremble  at  the  terrors  of  thy  justice 
only  that  he  may  flee  to  the  refuge  of  thy  mercy! 
Amen. 


VOL.  I.  w 


THREE  SERMONS. 

ON  THE 

PARABLE  OF  THE  PRODIGAL  SON, 

1st  On  the  Excesses  of  the  Prodigal. 

And  not  many  days  after,  the  younger  son  gathered  all  tog-ether,  and  took 
his  journey  into  a  far  country,  and  there  wasted  his  substance  with  riot- 
ous living.  And  when  he  had  spent  all,  there  arose  a  mighty  famine  in 
that  land,  and  he  began  to  be  in  want.  And  he  went  and  joined  himself 
to  a  citizen  of  that  country;  and  he  sent  him  into  his  fields  to  feed  swine. 
And  he  would  fain  have  filled  hfs  belly  with  the  husks  which  the  swine 
did  eat:  and  no  man  gave  unto  him.  Luke  XV.  13 — 16. 

What  a  striking  image  is  here  presented  by»our  bles- 
sed Saviour,  of  a  prodigal  who,  from  the  impulse  of  his 
own  unbridled  passions,  or  the  seduction  of  other  sin- 
ners, has  forsaken  the  path  of  virtue,  and  plunged  into 
the  excesses  of  vice  and  dissipation.  The  youth,  im- 
patient of  his  father's  control,  listening  only  to  the  calls 
of  appetite  and  pleasure;  without  experience,  and  with- 
out prudent  forecast,  enters  into  the  world.  From  a 
parent's  indulgence,  he  solicits,  and  obtains  that  ample 
provision  w^iich  might  have  procured  him  a  virtuous, 
and  happy  independence;  but  which,  misapplied,  be- 
came the  incentive  of  every  criminal  passion,  and  the 
fatal  instrument  at  length  of  his  shame  and  ruin.  Home, 
which  was  the  svi^eet  asylum  of  his  first  years,  and  the 
iaappy  scene  of  his  simple  and  regulated  habits,  becomes 


I 


On  the  Excesses  of  the  Prodigal.  83 

a  prison  to  his  unchained  desires,  and  the  reverend  pre- 
sence of  his  father,  which  was  a  source  of  happiness  in 
the  period  of  his  innocence,  becomes  irksome  to  an  ex- 
travagant youth  bent  on  the  gratification  of  his  unlawful 
passions.  As  long  as  the  sentiments  of  filial  piety  were 
not  entirely  extinguished  in  his  heart,  the  eye  of  a  pa- 
rent whom  he  was  accustomed  to  revere,  imposed  some 
restraint  upon  his  errors.  Wishing,  therefore,  to  de- 
liver himself  from  the  reproach  of  his  looks,  he  sought 
a  far  country  in  which  he  might  dare  to  give  unlimited 
scope  to  his  inclination.  In  this  scene  of  fancied  plea- 
sure, his  excesses  soon  reduce  him  to  indigence  and 
misery;  and  he  finds  a  wide  difference  between  the 
pleasing  pictiu-es  to  which  his  youthful  imagination  had 
given  its  warm  colouring,  and  the  sad  realities,  in  which 
all  its  illusions,  are  found  to  terminate.  Instead  of 
those  scenes  of  perpetual  gayety,  those  eternal  raptures 
of  which  he  had  suffered  his  fancy  to  dream,  you  see 
him  discontented,  anxious,  filled  with  bitter  recollec- 
tions, overwhelmed  with  his  own  reproaches,  and,  in 
the  end,  left  destitute  of  the  common  comforts  of  life, 
and  obliged' to  share  with  filthy  swine  their  miserable 
offal.  A  picture  more  humiliating,  could  hardly  have 
been  drawn  of  the  abandoned  situation  of  an  unhappy 
young  man,  in  that  region  where  swine  were  viewed 
with  pecuHar  abhorrence,  not  only  as  the  most  obscene, 
but  regarded  by  their  religion  as  the  most  profane  of  all 
animals. 

I  shall  not  wait  to  present  to  you  the  different  inter 
pretations  which  have  been  made  of  this  beautiful  and 
instructive  allegory,  or  the  various  applications  which 


84  On  the  Excesses  of  the  Prodigal. 

have  been  given  to  its  instructive  moral.  It  is  suffi- 
cient that  it  depicts  in  striking  colours,  the  unhappy 
consequences  of  the  errors  and  excesses  of  a  young, 
and  headstrong  profligate;  and  points  out  the  infe- 
licities which  pursue,  in  the  end,  a  course  of  sinful 
pleasures.  It  is  calculated,  in  the  next  place,  to  display 
the  deep  repentance  to  which  these  several  corrections 
are  often  made  to  lead  the  sufferer  under  the  gracious 
direction  and  influence  of  the  spirit  of  the  Most  High. 
And,  finally,  to  exhibit  the  benignity  and  compassion 
of  Almighty  God,  who  often  extends  his  mercy  to  the 
humbled  penitent  in  his  deepest  affliction;  and  often 
comes  to  his  succour  in  the  moment  of  his  despair. 

The  whole  parable,  contemplated  in  this  view,  would 
open  too  extensive  a  field  to  be  embraced  in  a  single 
discourse;  I  limit  myself,  therefore,  at  present,  to  ex- 
hibit the  errors  and  excesses  of  the  prodigal,  purpos- 
ing to  pursue,  hereafter,  the  remaining  subjects  in  their 
order. 

His  first  error,  and  the  fatal  introduction  of  all  which 
followed,  was  his  precipitate  endeavour  to  elude  the 
inspection  of  his  father's  eye,  and  escape  from  the  con- 
trol of  his  reverend  presence.  Give  me,  says  the  un- 
happy youth,  that  portion  of  goods  which  falleth  to  me: 
and  when  he  had  received  them,  he  went  into  afar  coun- 
try. He  could  no  longer  endure  the  observation  of 
that  countenance,  which  he  had  been  accustomed  to 
venerate,  and  which  appears  to  have  derived  an  awful 
majesty  from  the  lustre  of  virtue  and  religion  which 
beamed  in  it;  he  dreaded  the  importunity  of  his  remon- 
strances.   Some  remaining  sentiments  of  duty  still  ex- 


On  tJw  Excesses  of  the  Prodigal  85 

isted  in  the  midst  of  his  folHes,  which  rendered  it  irk- 
some to  know  that  that  good  man  was  acquainted  with 
his  disorders.  He  hastened,  therefore,  to  escape  from 
the  restraints  of  an  authority,  a  veneration  for  which, 
his  vices  had  not  entirely  extinguished  in  his  heart. 
He  went  into  a  far  country. — We  have  in  this  image 
an  aifecting  exhibition  of  the  thoughtless  career  of  the 
prodigal  who,  in  the  pursuit  of  his  criminal  passions, 
studies  only  to  forget,  and  in  forgetting,  hopes  to  elude 
the  inspection  and  judgment  of  Almighty  God.  It  is 
perhaps,  impossible  habitually  to  recollect  his  holy  pre- 
sence and,  at  the  same  time,  to  abandon  the  heart  to 
its  criminal  pursuits.  It  is  only  when  his  awful  holi- 
ness, when  the  majesty  of  his  perfection,  when  all  his 
relations  to  us  as  our  Father,  our  judge,  and  the  aven- 
ger of  our  crimes  are  forgotten,  or  pushed  from  our 
thoughts,  that  conscience  is  rendered  silent,  that  the 
fears  of  guilt  are  laid  asleep,  and  reason  dares  to  be- 
tray its  sacred  trust,  and  become  the  pander  of  lust,  or 
the  advocate  of  passion.  When  God  is  not  in  all 
our  thoughts^  the  world,  and  its  images  alone  fill  the 
heart.  Let  us  then  contemplate  the  prodigal,  thus  re- 
leased in  his  career  from  all  control. — Just  now  mas- 
ter of  his  fortune,  freed  from  every  inconvenient  re- 
striction which  the  presence  of  a  venerable  parent  still 
imposed  upon  him,  flourishing  in  the  vigour  of  Jiealth. 
which  his  excesses  have  not  yet  impaired,  he  fancies 
that  he  has  now  entered  on  a  path  which  will  ahvays 
be  strewed  with  flowers.  Headlong  he  rushes  into 
the  pleasures  before  him,  with  no  other  study  but 
how  perpetually  to  vary  them.     He  is  engaged  in  a 


86  On  Hie  Excesses  of  the  ProcUgal 

whirl  of  folly  which  hardly  leaves  his  intoxicated  heart 
one  moment  for  reflection.  All  appears  smiling  round 
him,  and  he  seems  to  himself  to  be  in  the  morning  of 
a  fair  and  beautiful  day  that  will  never  be  obscured  by 
a  cloud.  Ah!  he  has  no  suspicion  of  the  tempests  which 
will  agitate  its  noon,  or  of  those  dark  storms  which  are 
gathering  to  overcast  its  evening!  His  substance  he 
wastes;  riot  undermines  his  health;  debauch  destroys 
the  faculties  of  his  mind;  profligacy  of  manners,  by 
degrees,  lays  waste  the  conscience;  excess  exhausts 
the  powers  of  enjoyment,  and  renders  him  at  once  in- 
capable of  true  pleasure,  and  yet  incapable  of  living 
without  that  withered  and  barren  form  of  it,  which  a 
constitution,  worn  out  in  the  service  of  sin  has  left  him. 
Every  sensation  is  blunted,  at  the  same  time,  that  ha- 
bit increases  the  demand  for  pleasures  \\hich  he  is  no 
longer  able  to  enjoy.  Thus  he  destroys  the  noble  pow- 
ers of  nature,  and  dissipates  the  goods  which  his  hea- 
venly Father  has  bestowed  upon  him.  His  imagina- 
tion, his  reason,  his  affections,  all  the  energies  of  na- 
ture are  absorbed  and  sunk  in  folly.  The  talents  of 
the  mind,  the  vigour  of  the  body,  the  advantages  of  for- 
tune, which  should  all  have  been  consecrated  to  the 
glory  of  God,  have  been  perverted  and  abused  in  the 
infamous  servitude  of  vice. 

But  these  are  not  the  only  wastes  of  this  unhappy 
prodigal,  -Not  to  speak  of  the  diseases,  the  premature 
old  age,  the  impotence  of  enjoying  even  lawful  plea- 
sures, which  intemperance  and  sensuality  create,  what 
becomes  of  the  fond  hopes  of  parents,  the  expectations 
and  proud  predictions  of  friends,  that  appeared  to  be 


On  the  Excesses  of  the  Prodigal  87 

justified  by  the  talents  and  the  amiable  dispositions 
which  the  dawn  of  life  had  begun  to  unfold?  disap- 
pointed, and  blasted,  they  leave  them  perhaps  to  grief 
and  shame  which  embitter  the  remainder  of  their  days. 
What  becomes  of  that  peace  of  mind,  that  sweet  sere- 
nity of  heart,  that  conscious  worth  and  self-respect 
which  are  the  companions  of  innocence  and  virtue? 
They  are  lost  in  the  gulf  of  the  passions,  supplanted 
by  remorse,  and  sunk  in  the  humiliating  conviction  of 
the  lost  esteem  of  the  world.  The  means  of  know- 
ledge, and  of  moral  and  religious  culture,  which  he  once 
enjoyed,  and  which  should  have  early  planted  in  his 
heart  the  principles  of  religion,  now  serve,  to  increase 
his  hostility  to  all  good,  and  precipitate  his  downward 
course  to  ruin. 

After  the  substance  of  the  prodigal  is  wasted,  his 
folly  appears  in  stronger  colours. 

A  famine  arises  in  that  land  to  which  he  had  retired, 
far  from  virtue,  and  far  from  the  presence  of  his  fa- 
ther; and  he  begins  to  be  in  want.  He  who  had  been 
master  of  superfluous  wealth,  is  forced  to  seek  a 
shameful  subsistence  by  selling  his  services  to  the 
most  infamous  employments;  he,  who  had  revelled  in 
the  bosom  of  so  many  delights,  is  constrained  to  asso- 
ciate only  with  the  swine  which  he  is  commissioned  to 
feed;  he  seeks  to  devour  along  with  them  their  filthy 
husks;  but  they  are  not  sufficient  to  satisfy  the  crav- 
ings of  his  hunger.  Behold,  a  new  image  of  the  vile 
slavery  to  which  his  ungoverned  passions  have,  at  last 
reduced  the  profligate,  the  brutality  into  which  they 


S8  On  the  Excesses  of  the  Prodigal. 

often  sink  him,  and  the  misery  in  which  they  finally 
leave  him. 

Do  you  see  an  unhappy  youth  who  has  sacrificed 
honor,  interest,  duty,  his  own  convictions,  the  hopes 
and  happiness  of  his  family  to  the  demon  of  pleasure? 
Straightway  he  goeth  after  her  as  an  ox  to  the  slaughter, 
or  as  a  fool  to  the  correction  of  the  stocks.  She  imposes 
upon  him  her  cruel  chains.  She  drags  him  at  her 
chariot  wheels;  often,  indeed,  a  wilhng  slave,  but  often 
also,  a  '^eluciant  captive.  The  reproaches  of  his  own 
heart,  the  reproaches  of  the  world,  the  loss  of  private 
chat"acter  and  honor;  the  tears  of  his  friends  stand  in 
the  way  of  his  guilty  career,  but  the  power  of  his  cor- 
ruptions urges  him  on  to  the  consummation  of  his  dis- 
gi'ace.  He  sinks  a  slave  to  the  most  abject  principles 
of  his  nature.  Well  have  they  been  represented  by 
herding  with  swine,  and  being  nourished  only  with  the 
vile  husks  which  form  the  food  of  the  filthiest  of  all 
animals.  By  the  same  figure,  only  improved  by  the  fic- 
tions of  poetry,  does  the  prince  of  heathen  poets  depict 
the  companions  of  Ulyses  metamorphosed  into  swine 
by  the  malignant  power  of  Circean  pleasure. 

At  last,  even  these  miserable  and  polluted  streams  fail 
him.  He  had  once  rioted  in  abundance.  Now,  he  seeks 
only  to  glut  himself  with  the  veriest  offal  of  his  filthy 
herd.  Deprived  of  every  pure,  rational,  and  manly 
source  of  happiness,  he  drains  every  filthy  puddle  in 
his  way;  but  their  foul  and  poisonous  waters,  instead 
of  quenching  his  raging  thirst,  serve  only  to  inflame  it. 
An  immortal  soul  cannot  be  satisfied  with  brutish  en- 
joyments.   In  spite  of  the  impure  propensities  of  vice, 


On  the  Excesses  of  the  Prodigal.  81^ 

it  pines  for  a  felicity  more  worthy  of  its  celestial  nature. 
What  in  the  gross  corruptions  of  a  mortal  body,  can 
have  any  congeniality  with  its  heavenly  origin?  Nothing 
but  the  consciousness  of  having  fulfilled  its  duty;  no- 
thing but  the  pleasures  of  piety  and  virtue;  but  the 
heauty  of  holiness;  but  God  in  Christ  reconciling  the 
world  to  himself,  can  completely  satisfy  the  tastes  of 
immortality.  All  things  else  are  barren,  and  leave  the 
soul  famished,  for  want  of  its  proper  nourishment. 
The  libertine  wanders  from  object  to  object.  Disap- 
pointment meets  him  at  every  step;  but  far  from  cur- 
ing his  folhes,  it  only  stimulates  him  to  new  and  alas! 
successless  efforts.  Each  object  pleases  for  a  moment, 
and,  he  is  ready  to  say,  surely  the  happiness  for  which 
I  seek  is  here.  Hardly  is  it  tasted,  till,  like  all  the  rest, 
it  writes  vanity  upon  its  own  shallow  stream,  and  leaves 
nought  behind,  but  the  painful  void  of  folly,  or  the  sting 
of  conscious  guilt.  Whenever  he  returns  upon  him- 
seltj  he  is  unhappy.  The  levity  of  youth,  the  ardour 
of  pleasure  may,  for  a  time,  suspend  reflection.  But 
the  decays  of  nature,  the  strokes  of  divine  providence, 
or  the  disastrous  consequences  of  his  crimes,  will  force 
conviction  at  last  upon  his  reluctant  heart.  A  consti- 
tution broken  by  vice,  a  family,  perhaps,  reduced  to 
distress  by  extravagance,  the  griefs  of  friends,  the 
reproaches  of  the  world,  or  personal  affliction  will  some 
time  or  other  speak  to  the  conscience  with  a  voice 
which  cannot  be  stifled  or  misunderstood.  Yes,  af- 
fliction will,  sooner  or  later,  such  is  the  order  of  pro- 
vidence, vindicate  the  rights  of  God,  and  of  divine  jus- 
tice.    The  sinner  will  be  made  to  feel  the  vanity  of  all 

VOL.  I.  N 


90  On  the  Excesses  of  the  Prodigal. 

his  projects  of  happiness,  which  leave  the  soul  famish- 
ed, and  bereft  of  its  true  good;  dissatisfied  with  the 
world,  yet  incapable  of  the  hopes  of  religion.  Filled 
with  distressful  apprehensions,  when  the  hand  of  hea- 
ven is  pressing  sore  upon  him,  when  his  sins  are  pur- 
suing him  with  their  scorpion  stings,  will  not  conscience 
terrified  with  gloomy  forebodings,  and  despairing  of 
hope  from  the  world,  begin  also  to  despair  of  that  hea- 
venly mercy  which  it  has  so  long  contemned  and  abus- 
ed? 

Yet,  it  is  this  despair,  which  yields  to  piety  the  ear- 
liest dawn  of  hope  for  the  wretched  prodigal.  The 
vices  and  follies  of  mankind  are  often  cured  by  the  evils 
which  they  bring  after  them;  and  the  Holy  Spirit  not 
rarely  employs  the  severe  corrections  of  diving  provi- 
dence to  bring  the  first  effectual  convictions  home  to 
the  breast  of  sinners. 

As  long  as  this  wretched  youth  could  subsist  on  the 
offal  of  swine,  he  thought  not  of  returning  to  the  best 
of  fathers.  It  was  only  the  pressure  of  extreme  cala- 
mity which  brought  him  to  his  senses.  Ruined  by  his 
own  follies,  he  began  to  call  to  mind  the  security  and 
happiness,  the  pure  and  virtuous  joys  he  had  tasted, 
the  delightful  moments  he  had  passed  in  his  father's 
house:  thither,  therefore,  he  resolves  in  deep  contrition 
of  soul  to  return,  and  seek  there,  if  possible,  an  ulti- 
mate refuge  from  calamities  to  which  he  sees  no  end. 
And,  in  the  holy  and  sovereign  providence  of  Almighty 
God,  how  often  is  the  cup  of  salvation  extended  to  sin- 
ners on  the  rod  of  affliction?  Almost  all  men  require 
many  and  repeated  corrections  to  redeem  them  from 


On  the  Excesses  of  the  Prodigal  91 

the  multiplied  errors  to  which  human  nature  is  prone. 
And  certain  it  is,  that  a  deep  sense  of  the  evil  of  sin, 
and  of  the  infehcity  of  a  sinful  course,  is  the  first  prin- 
ciple of  true  repentance;  the  first  step  in  the  prodigal's 
return  to  his  heavenly  father.  But  it  is  not  my  design 
at  present,  to  portray  the  penitent  sentiments  which 
were  at  length  awakened  in  the  heart  of  this  undutiful 
youth.  These  I  reserve  to  offer  to  your  reflections  on 
a  future  occasion,  that  I  may  use  your  remaining  time 
to  derive  from  the  portrait  of  his  follies  which  has  now 
been  presented  to  you,  some  useful  admonitions  that 
may  be  applied  to  our  own  peculiar  circumstances  and 
state. 

Does  any  hearer  then  secretly  acquit  himself  to  his 
own  heart,  and  put  aside  the  mirror  which  I  have  en- 
deavoured to  hold  up  to  him,  because  he  has  not  pro- 
ceeded to  all  the  excesses  of  the  prodigal  in  our  gospel? 
Let  us  advance  the  glass  a  little  nearer,  and  see  if  it  do 
not  reflect  too  faithful  an  image  of  ourselves.  W  hen 
first  this  mistaken  youth  solicited  the  exclusive  control 
of  his  own  fortune,  he  had  probably  no  design,  nor  an- 
ticipation of  proceeding  to  that  height  of  folly  to  w  hich 
he  afterwards  arrived.  He  became  not  completely  de- 
praved at  once.  Vice  steals  upon  the  sinner  by  insen- 
sible approaches.  In  the  commencement  of  his  course 
he  would  be  startled  at  the  proposition  of  crimes  to  the 
commission  of  which  he  proceeds,  at  length,  without 
remorse  or  shame.  It  is  only  by  degrees  that  he  casts 
off  that  modest  reserve,  and  that  delicate  respect  to  the 
observation  of  the  world  of  which  youth  are  often  deep- 
ly sensible  in  their  first  deviations  from  the  path  of  Vir- 


92  On  the  Excesses  of  the  Prodigal. 

tiie.     By  frequently  extinguishing  the  fears  of  inno- 
cence and  the  blushes  of  modesty,  the  countenance  be- 
comes hardened.     Irritated  by  reproach,  by  advice,  or 
even  by  the  distant  apprehension  of  public  censure,  the 
sinner  comes,  at  length,  to  set  them  at  defiance.  Seek- 
ing a  deceitful  peace  to  his  heart,  he  attempts  to  in- 
volve himself  in  those  fallacious  folds  which  may  hide 
from  his  view  the  disorders  of  his  conduct.  He  rejects 
the  cautious  habits,  and  the  prudent  maxims  of  his  ear- 
lier years.  He  studies  above  all  things  to  forget  the  pre- 
sence of  Almighty  God  his  Creator  and  his  judge,  that 
the  awful  consciousness  of  his  inspection  may  no  long- 
er impose  a  check  on  his  incipient  career.  For  a  time, 
the  principles  of  his  education,  or  his  respect  for  the 
observation  of  the  world,  may  lay  a  useful  restraint  on 
the  irregularities  of  his  course,  but  if  the  habitual  sense 
of  a  divine  witness,  is  removed,  every  barrier  against  sin, 
every  mound  of  duty  is  soon  borne  down  by  the  violence 
of  passion  or  overleapt  in  the  inconsiderate  levity  of 
youth. — Guard,  O  young  man!  against  the  beginnings 
of  sin.     /if  is,  saith  the  wise  preacher,  like  the  letting 
out  of  water,  which  wears  to  itself  a  wider,  and  a  wider 
channel,  till  the  impetuosity  of  the  flood,  at  last,  over- 
comes all  resistance. 

Beware,  not  only  of  forgetting  God,  but  of  too  early 
affecting  an  independence  on  those  whose  wisdom,  and 
affection  entitle  them  to  direct  your  inexperienced 
years.  Remark  how  severely  this  unwise  son  suffered 
for  his  temerity.  Youth  are  flattered  with  the  idea  of 
being  their  own  masters;  but  their  natural  indiscretion, 
renders  that  period  of  life  a  season  of  infinite  hazard 


On  the  Excesses  of  the  Prodigal.  93 

to  their  inexperience.  The  world  is  full  of  secret 
snares,  of  corrupting  examples,  and  of  allurements 
dangerous  to  the  passions  of  a  bold  and  thoughtless 
youth.  The  first  draughts  of  pleasure  intoxicate  the 
fancy  and  the  heart.  He  sees  nothing  before  him  but 
scenes  of  delight;  he  hears  nothing  but  enchanting 
sounds;  but  ah!  he  looks  not  to  the  gulfs  which  sur- 
round the  Syren,  while  the  charms  of  her  voice  are 
lulling  him  in  a  sweet  delirium  on  the  verge  of  ruin. 

No  lure  to  perdition  is  more  certain.  Ah!  young 
men!  be  not  ambitious  to  deliver  yourselves  from  the 
control  of  the  authority;  from  the  direction  of  the  wis- 
dom and  experience  of  those,  who  love  you,  and  to 
whom  nature  has  wisely  subjected  your  first  years. 
Happy,  if  their  experience  can  become  yours  by  a  du- 
tiful submission  to  their  counsels;  if  it  can  preserve 
you  from  the  ten  thousand  unseen  dangers  which  every 
where  encompass  your  footsteps.  Happy  beyond  ex- 
pression! if  it  can  save  you  from  the  errors,  and  the 
fate  of  the  vain  undutiful  prodigal  of  our  gospel,  who 
rashly  hastened  to  deliver  himself  from  the  restraint  of 
a  father's  eye,  and  the  importunity  of  a  father's  advice. 

Would  you,  then,  effectually  guard  against  that  fatal 
progression  in  vice  which  terminated  in  the  total  cor- 
ruption of  the  manners  and  morals  of  our  young  pro- 
digal. Shun  the  first  avenues  which  lead  to  its  dan- 
gerous declivity.  Let  your  first  prayer  to  Heaven  be, 
lead  us  not  into  temptation.  No  symptom  is  more 
unpromising  in  the  character  of  a  young  man,  than 
a  defect  of  filial  duty;  than  that  most  culpable  love 
of  pleasure  which  is  regardless  of  tlie  convenience,  the 


94  On  the  Excesses  of  the  Prodigal. 

advice,  the  happiness  of  parents;  which  is  willing  to 
impose  upon  their  love;  which  regards  it  in  no  other 
light  than  as  affording  a  facility  of  obtaining  the 
means  of  every  criminal  indulgence;  which  considers 
as  clear  gain  to  itself  all  that  it  can  elicit,  or  extort 
from  their  tenderness  and  affection.  Oh!  the  base 
ungenerous  spirit  of  sinful  pleasure!  The  prodigal 
commenced  his  career  by  wishing  to  make  a  father 
subservient  to  his  guilty  purposes,  and  then  to  withdraw 
himself  from  the  authority  of  his  observation,  the  ad- 
monitions of  his  love.  On  the  other  hand,  if  you  cher- 
ish that  filial  duty,  that  lively  sensibility  to  the  comfort, 
the  hopes,  the  honest  pride,  the  ardent  prayers  of  a 
worthy  and  affectionate  parent  which  is  the  character 
of  ingenuous  youth,  it  will  hardly  be  possible  to  de- 
part far  from  the  path  of  virtue.  It  will  prove  the  most 
favourable  introduction  to  the  renewing  and  sanctifying 
influences  of  the  Holy  Spirit. 

But  shun,  as  the  surest  road  to  the  consummation  of 
a  worthless  character,  the  society  of  idle  and  vicious 
companions.  Idleness  is  the  parent  of  almost  every 
other  vice.  Vicious  companions  inflame  each  other's 
passions,  assist  each  other's  projects,  and  stimulate 
each  other's  excesses.  Ah!  what  pernicious  princi- 
ples in  such  societies,  are  first  sported  and  then  re- 
ceived as  maxims  of  conduct!  What  criminal  projects 
are  first  suggested,  and  then  executed!  What  dis- 
graceful vices,  at  first  regarded  as  momentary  levities, 
are  afterwards  ripened  into  deliberate  acts,  and  fixed 
in  inflexible  habits!  And  have  we  not  reason,  alas! 
from  the  same  cause  to  lament,  in  too  many  examples, 


On  the  Excesses  of  the  Prodigal.  95 

age  as  well  as  youth  perverted  and  destroyed  by  im- 
proper associations.  Once  industrious  arid  sober,  we 
often  see  it,  at  length  distinguished  for  frequenting  the 
places  of  idle  resort.  Business  is  given  up  for  loiter- 
ing,— the  duties  of  a  useful  calling,  for  pernicious  com- 
pany keeping, — sobriety  for  intemperance. — Arrived 
at  this  stage  of  profligacy,  what  an  afflicting  change  is 
perceived  in  the  whole  moral  character  of  these  devo- 
tees of  pleasure!  Ask  of  their  own  breasts,  where  self- 
respect,  where  serenity  and  peace,  where  conscious 
worth  have  been  long  lost.  Ask  of  their  houses,  filled, 
perhaps,  with  dissolution;  or  of  a  wife  and  children 
forsaken  for  the  dearer  society  of  profligate  compan- 
ions. Ask  of  their  families  in  tears,  perhaps,  for  their 
absence,  or  trembling  foi-  their  return.  Ask  of  the 
world  which  now  loads  them  with  its  reproaches. — 
Ah!  deceived,  mistaken  men  who  dare  to  name  the 
name  of  Christ!  Flee,  if  it  be  not  yet  too  late,  these 
destructive  monsters,  which  threaten  to  precipitate  you 
into  irretrievable  ruin.  The  multitude  of  unhappy 
examples,  which  continually  obtrude  themselves  upon 
our  view  require,  my  beloved  brethren,  this  urgency  in 
our  public  discourses.  Can  we  see  without  deep  con- 
cern for  the  interests  of  piety,  and  the  interests  of  our 
country,  the  prevalence  of  crimes  which  are  hastening 
to  extinguish  every  principle  of  virtue  and  every  manly 
and  generous  sentiment  of  the  soul, — that  are  sinking 
men  into  the  gulfs  of  corruption,  which  open  their  fum- 
ing mouths  into  the  gulf  of  Hell.^ 

Almighty  God!  we  implore  of  thy  mercy,  to  rescue, 
even  at  this  late  hour,  the  miserable  remnants  of  age 


96  On  tJie  Excesses  of  the  Prodigal. 

already  exhausted  in  the  service  of  sin!  Arrest  in  the 
commencement  of  their  prodigal  career,  the  dangerous 
profligacy  of  youth,  and  turn  them  in  this  precious 
season  of  life,  to  the  obedience  of  thy  holy  will!  where 
lies  their  true  happiness  and  their  true  glory!    Amen!. 


THE  REPENTANCE  OF  THE  PRODIGAL. 


Second  Discourse  upon  the  Parable. 

And  when  he  had  come  to  himself,  he  said,  how  many  hired  servants  of  my 
father's  have  bread  enough  and  to  spare,  and  I  perish  with  hunger.  I 
will  arise  and  go  to  my  father,  and  will  say  unto  him,  father,  I  have  sinned 
against  Heaven,  and  before  thee,  and  am  no  more  worthy  to  oe  called  thy 
son:  make  me  as  one  of  thy  hired  servants.  Aad  he  arose  and  went  to  his 
father.     Luke  XT.  11— 20. 

In  the  preceding  discourse,  I  have  presented  to  your 
view  the  errors  of  the  prodij^al, — his  excesses, — and 
the  miseries  in  which  a  hfe  of  dissipation  and  folly  had 
involved  him — miseries  which,  at  length,  forcibly  ar- 
rested his  career,  and  brought  him  to  serious  reflection. 
Pressed  by  misfortune,  and  penetrated  with  remorse, 
he  comes  to  the  resolution  of  returning  to  his  father's 
house,  and  imploring  his  compassion  and  forgiveness. 
I  request  your  attention,  therefore,  to-day,  while  I  of- 
fer to  your  devout  meditations,  the  repentance  of  the 
prodigal. 

1.  He  profoundly  felt  the  wretchedness  to  which  his 
follies  had  reduced  him.     1  perish  with  hunger. 

2.  He  resolved  to  return  to  his  father,  with  contrition 
and  confession  of  his  sins;  and  soliciting  his  forgive- 
ness, there  to  devote  himself  with  renewed  duty  and 
zeal  to  his  loved  family. — /  ivill  arise,  and  go  to  my 

VOL.  P.  o 


98  Repentance  of  the  Prodigal 

father,  and  say  unto  him,  father  I  have  sinned  against 
Heaven  and  before  thee,  and  am  no  more  worthy  to  be 
called  thy  son:  make  me  as  one  of  thy  hired  servants 

The  sense  of  his  miseries — and  the  resolution  to  for- 
sake his  errors,  and  to  return  to  his  father,  form  the 
sum  of  his  repentance. 

1.  When  the  intoxication  of  his  passions  had  subsi- 
ded, he  found  himself  reduced  to  a  state  of  the  deepest 
distress; — I  perish  ivith  hunger. — He  had  now  learned 
from  his  unhappy  experience  how  false  and  deceitful 
are  all  the  promises  of  unhallowed  pleasure.  The 
scenes  which  imagination  had  pictured  before  him,  and 
the  delights  which  the  senses,  while  they  were  not  yet 
blunted  by  excess,  had  yielded,  are  all  vanished,  and 
he  wonders  by  what  infatuation  he  could  have  been  so 
long  misled  and  enslaved.  Pleasure,  while  the  appe- 
tite is  not  sated  by  indulgence,  has  the  power  of  re- 
presenting all  its  objects  in  charming  and  beautiful  co- 
louring. When  desire  is  cloyed,  the  enchantment  is 
broken.  And  the  disgusted  sense  throws  them  back 
upon  us  as  the  filth  of  human  nature,  and  the  scouring 
of  creation.  With  what  different  eyes  does  the  prodi- 
gal, when  come  to  liimself,  look  back  upon  the  scenes 
of  his  folly.  At  every  step  in  this  humbling  review, 
something  he  sees  to  awaken  remorse;  something  to 
cover  him  w^ith  confusion.  Allied  in  his  enjoyments  to 
the  swine  which  he  is  feeding,  he  feels  himself  justly 
condemned  to  herd  with  them  as  his  companions. 
And  the  joys  which  had  once  made  him  forget  his 
fathers  house,  and  his  own  most  precious  interests, 
have  become  like  coarse  and  tasteless  husks:  or  like 


Repentance  of  the  Prodigal.  99 

the  apples  of  paradise  which  appeared  fair  and  beau- 
tiful to  the  eye,  but  tasted,  werel"ound  to  fill  the  mouth 
with  dust  and  bitterness. 

After  a  profligate  career,  in  which  this  young  man 
gave  full  scope  to  his  desires,  and  withheld  not  his 
heart  from  any  joy,  he  comes,  at  length,  to  taste  the 
bitter  fruits  of  his  follies,  and  sinks  into  want,  disgrace, 
and  sorrow.  In  the  painful  retrospect  of  liie,  the 
memory  of  every  sinful  joy  opens  to  his  view  a  gulf  in 
which  reason,  conscience  and  his  own  happiness  have 
been  whelmed.  The  recollection  of  his  father's  house, 
with  the  innocence,  and  virtuous  delights  which  reign 
there,  present  images  which  fill  him  with  regret.  When 
he  turns  his  view  inward,  on  himself,  he  meets  only  the 
reproaches  of  his  own  heart;  and  when  he  attempts  to 
cast  his  eye.  forward  to  his  eternal  being,  darkness  and 
horror  rest  upon  the  prospect.  The  pleasures  of  sin 
are  made,  in  the  righteous  order  of  divine  providence, 
to  punish  their  own  follies,  and  avenge  the  rights  of 
God,  of  virtue  and  humanity.  Within  himself  he 
has  no  resource  against  the  deep  distress  which  has 
overtaken  him;  the  world  aifords  him  none;  he  can 
hope  for  none  in  a  repetition  of  sins  which  have  now  be- 
come the  cause  of  his  deepest  affliction,  and  which  he 
cannot  look  back  upon,  but  with  profound  horror.  If 
then,  he  has  none  from  that  benignant  and  gracious 
parent,  whom  he  has  forsaken,  hopeless  indeed  must 
his  condition  be. — But  iiom  this  quarter  a  ray  of  light 
first  breaks  in  upon  his  soul,  through  the  darkness 
which  surrounds  it.  He  was  sinking  in  despair.  But 
when  he  thinks  of  his  father's  house,  he  conceives  a 


100  Repentance  of  the  Prodigal. 

hope  that  he  who  has  given  him  existence,  will  not 
spurn  his  repentance.  It  is,  at  least,  his  refuge;  and 
into  it  he  is  resolved  to  flee.  Ah,  christians!  how  gra- 
cious frequently  is  God  in  the  sufferings  which  he  in- 
flicts! If  this  unhappy  prodigal,  could  any  longer  have 
found  subsistence  in  that  far  country  to  which  his 
passions  had  driven  him,  still,  perhaps,  he  would  have 
been  willing  to  rest  contented  in  his  slavery,  and  to 
wallow  in  the  kennels  of  impurity.  But  a  merciful 
providence  still  pursues  him  with  repeated  strokes. 
His  own  sins  are  made  his  tormentors.  All  his  com- 
forts have  abandoned  him. — Stripped  of  every  hope  on 
which  he  had  been  accustomed  to  repose,  he  is  left  na- 
ked to  the  buffetings  of  that  dark  storm  which  Heaven 
has  collected  round  him,  and  to  that  still  more  afflict- 
ing tempest  which  conscience  has  raised  within  his 
breast,  till  overwhelmed  with  grief,  he  yields  to  the  full 
conviction  of  his  guilt.  His  supreme  solicitude  now 
is,  how  he  shall  tread  back  his  former  steps,  and  re- 
gaittj  if  possible,  his  father's  forfeited  love.  Conscious 
that  he  has  no  plea  to  make  for  the  fatal  errors  of  his 
life,  no  ground  on  which  to  claim  forgiveness,  he  re- 
solves to  cast  himself  absolutely  on  that  mercy  and 
compassion  which  a  repentant  son  never  implores  in 
vain  from  an  affectionate  father.  Such  is  the  first  step 
of  a  sinner's  return  to  God, — the  first  movements  of  a 
sincere  repentance.  He  is  penetrated  with  a  deep 
sense  of  his  miseries  and  his  guilt,  while  yet,  far  from 
God,  his  heavenly  Father,  he  is  ivithout  God,  and  with- 
out Christ  in  the  ivorld.  When  smitten  by  divine  pro- 
vidence with  severe  affliction,  or  pierced  by  some  ar- 


Repentance  of  the  Prodigal.  101 

row  from  the  word  of  God,  he  is  arrested  in  his  career; 
when  he  is  forced  to  turn  his  reflections  backward  on 
his  actions,  which  in  the  whirl  of  his  dissipations,  he 
had  never  seriously  considered;  or  to  enter  into  the  re- 
cesses of  his  heart,  to  which  he  has  hitherto  been  a 
stranger,  in  what  new  lights  appears  the  whole  scene 
of  life?  What  new  sentiments  oppress  his  heart?  He 
had  flattered  himself,  formerly,  with  the  innocence  of 
all  his  pleasures.  He  now  sees  in  them  nothing,  but 
unexpiated  crimes.  He  is  overwhelmed  with  fear,  re- 
morse, and  conscious  guilt.  Instead  of  that  countenance 
of  thoughtless  hilarity  which  had  marked  the  course  of 
his  dissipation,  you  perceive  his  countenance  clouded 
with  melancholy;  for  forward  presumption,  you  see  only 
anxiety,  and  apprehension.  Pride  and  arrogance  are 
tuined  into  humility  and  contrition;  and  he  is  ready  to 
say  with  Job,  thou  writest  bitter  things  against  me  and 
makest  me  to  possess  the  iniquities  of  my  youth.  As  all 
objects  assume  the  colour  of  the  mind,  the  heavens 
gather  blackness  over  his  head, — God,  most  merciful, 
appears  arrayed  in  terrors,  and  the  majesty  of  his 
throne  is  surrounded,  only  with  the  flames  of  a  con- 
suming justice.  But  to  what  quarter  shall  the  con- 
science of  guilt  have  resource  for  relief?  Shall  he  re- 
turn to  the  world  to  find  a  comfort  in  its  pleasures, 
which  he  cannot  find  in  his  own  breast?  or  a  diversion 
in  its  pursuits  from  his  troubled  thoughts?  Alas!  he  has 
tried  the  utmost  that  the  world  can  yield,  and  found  it 
barren  of  true  felicity.  He  has  experienced  its  end, 
and  found  it  wormwood  and  gall.  Shall  I  then,  such 
is  his  language,  strive  to  forget  the  judge,  the  tribunal, 


102  Repentance  of  the  Prodigal, 

and  the  awful  destinies  of  the  eternal  world?  Oh!  infi- 
nite folly!  does  not  that  judge  still  behold  me?  does  not 
that  tribunal  still  await  me^ — Can  I,  by  forgetting,  es- 
cape the  judgments  of  God? — Nay,  will  not  that  terri- 
ble day  surely  arrive,  like  the  deluge  on  the  inhabitants 
of  the  old  world;  or  like  the  fire  from  heaven  on  the 
guilty  cities  of  the  plain,  only  the  more  terrible  for  not 
having  been  expected?  No,  I  cannot  return  to  the 
paths  I  have  left.  Alas!  there  is  no  source  of  conso- 
lation open  to  a  reasonable  mind,  out  of  religion.  A 
God  in  Christ  is  my  only  refuge.  And,  to  me  the  uni- 
verse is  a  comfortless  void,  till  1  am  reconciled  to  my 
heavenly  Father.  I  feel  the  earth  totter  beneath  my 
feet.  Eternity  presents  to  my  view  an  abyss  of  hor- 
ror. To  no  quarter  can  i  look  for  hope,  but  to  the  be- 
nignity and  compassion,  the  remaining  tenderness  which 
I  may  yet  find  in  the  bosom  of  a  justly  offended  father. 
Yes,  it  is  my  last,  my  only  hope. — I  will  go, — I  will  go 
and  cast  myself  upon  his  compassion. 

2.  It  is  the  second  consideration  which  presents  it- 
self to  us  in  the  repentance  of  the  prodigal.  He  resolves 
to  return  to  his  father. 

This  resolution  is  the  consequence  of  his  painful  ex- 
perience, and  of  that  profound  reflection  on  himself, 
and  his  errors,  which  the  Holy  Spirit,  taking  advan- 
tage of  the  calamities  which  his  sins  had  brought  upon 
him,  has  awakened  in  his  heart.  I  will  go  to  my  fa- 
ther— here  1  perish.  My  folly  and  madness,  now  ap- 
pear to  me  in  the  strongest  lights^  and  in  the  darkest 
colours.  But  shall  not  a  penitent  son  find  kindness 
with  him  who  is  kind  even  to  the  evil  and  unthankful? 


Repentance  of  the  Prodigal.  103 

Ah!  if  I  could  obtain  his  forgiveness,  if  I  could  regain 
his  favour,  never,  never,  would  I  again  renounce  those 
holy  endearments,  which,  if  I  had  been  wise,  I  might 
still  have  enjoyed  in  his  presence,  and  is  not  this  what 
he  supremely  desires,  my  repentance  and  reformation? 
Then  may  I  not  even  yet  hope  for  compassion  from  a 
parent  whom  my  ingratitude  has  so  deeply  wounded? 
If  I  cannot  deserve  the  affection  of  a  son  who  has  never 
erred;  may  I  not  claim  his  piety,  at  least,  as  a  suffer- 
ing wretch  that  he  may  remember  was  once  his  son-^ 
I  think  I  see  the  good  old  man  in  the  days  of  my  wan- 
dering, following  me  with  his  affectionate  solicitudes, 
with  his  anxious  prayers;  and  will  he  not  rejoice  to 
see  me  at  last,  rescued  from  the  gulf  into  which  my 
headlong  passions  had  precipitated  me?  It  is,  at  least, 
the  only  hope  which  remains.  And  I  will  pursue  it,  till, 
if  I  must  be  driven  to  despair,  it  shall  be  by  the  stern 
command  of  that  father  himself,  the  image  of  whose 
goodness  now  lights  up  the  last  ray  in  my  bosom,  pe- 
netrated with  remorse  and  shame.  The  humblest 
menial  in  his  house  possesses  abundance  and  content- 
ment. Amidst  the  easy  service  which  he  pays  to  so 
gracious  a  lord,  he  enjoys  a  calm  of  mind,  a  self-ap- 
proving conscience,  a  sweet  serenity  which,  in  all  my 
guilty  pleasures,  I  could  never  find. — I  will  arise  and 
go  to  my  father ' 

But,  in  putting  this  resolution  into  practice,  with 
what  sentiments,  and  with  what  language  would  a  pe- 
nitent son  approach  a  father,  whom  he  had  so  deeply 
afflicted  and  offended?  Would  he  come  with  excuses 
or  palliations  in  his  mouth,  in  order  to  prepare  a  fa- 


104  Repentance  of  the  Prodigal 

vourable  reception?  Would  he  say,  the  levity  and  in- 
consideration  of  youth,  which  should  be  regarded  with 
indulgence,  hurried  me  away?  Would  he  allege  the 
ardour  of  the  passions  at  that  age,  the  force  of  exam- 
ple, the  solicitations  of  pleasure,  which  it  is  difficult 
for  a  young  man  in  certain  situations  to  resist? 
But,  in  the  midst  of  all  my  errors  would  he  add,  my 
heart  was  still  good?  I  still  thought  with  kindness  of 
the  parent  whom  I  had  forsaken ;  and  excepting  the  tor- 
rent that  bore  me  along,  I  would,  in  other  things  have 
been  willing  to  regulate  my  actions  by  his  counsels? 
Would  he  hope  to  advance  his  plea  by  throwing  such 
softenings  over  his  faults?  No,  he  would  be  too  much 
humbled  to  hold  this  deceitful  language.  No,  in  the 
depth  of  his  contrition,  he  would  see  only  his  guilt,  not 
its  excuses.  He  would  dwell  upon  its  aggravations,  not 
upon  its  palliatives.  He  would  delight,  such  is  the  spi- 
rit of  repentance,  to  take  a  certain  revenge  upon  him- 
self for  his  ingratitude  and  folly,  by  the  depth  of  his 
contrition,  and  the  humility  of  his  confessions.  I  will 
go  to  my  father,  if  an  unworthy  but  penitent  son,  may 
yet  dare  to  address  him  by  that  tender  title,  and  will 
say  to  h\m,  father  I  have  sinned  against  Heaven,  and 
before  thee,  and  am  no  more  worthy  to  be  called  thy  son. 
Against  Heaven. — For,  in  breaking  the  ties  of  nature, 
I  have  violated  the  most  sacred  laws  of  God,  my  hea- 
venly Father.  I  have  forgotten  that  holy  and  awful 
presence  which  would  have  imposed  a  check  upon  my 
infatuation,  which  duty  to  an  earthly  parent  was  una- 
ble to  restrain.  I  have  sinned  before  thee,  my  father, 
who  didst  foster  me  with  so  much  indulgence;  before 
thee,  whom  every  law  of  nature,  and  of  duty,  whom 


Repentance  of  the  Prodigal.  105 

ten  thousand  acts  of  kindness  and  endearment  should 
have  taught  me  to  love; — before  tlwe,  whose  consolation 
in  the  decline  of  life  I  should  have  proved;  but  whose 
peace  I  have  wounded,  whose  soul  I  have  filled  with 
bitterness  and  anguish.  Yes,  /  artt  no  mone  ivorthy  to 
be  called  thy  son.  That  holy  privilege  which,  by  my 
bitter  experience,  I  have  been  at  length  taught  so  high- 
ly to  estimate,  I  have  most  justly  forfeited.  But  if  I 
cannot  be  restored  to  that  prerogative  which,  like  Esau, 
I  have  shamefully  sold  for  the  gratification  of  my  low 
appetites,  may  I  not  be  permitted  to  behold,  to  serve, 
to  reside  near  thee,  whom  I  have  learned  to  love,  when, 
alas!  I  no  longer  deserve  to  be  beloved.  Make  me  as  one 
of  thy  hired  servants,  till  I  have  proved  by  my  dutiful 
zeal  that  I  am  not  altogether  unworthy  thy  compas- 
sion. 

Such  are  the  simple  expressions  of  the  prodigal's  re- 
pentance, extorted  from  a  heart  profoundly  penetrated 
with  its  folly:  such  also  are  the  sentiments  which  pene- 
trate a  convinced  and  penitent  sinner,  conscious  of  the 
enormity  of  his  offences  against  God  his  heavenly  Fa- 
ther. When  first  he  turns  his  eyes  towards  the  throne 
of  the  heavenly  grace,  will  not  the  same  grief  for  his 
transgressions,  the  same  shame  of  his  follies,  the  same 
humiliating  sense  of  the  evil  of  his  sins  mark  his  peni- 
tent confession  of  them  before  Almighty  God.'*  He  em- 
ploys no  palliations  to  soften  their  guilt,  he  studies  no 
concealment,  or  disguise  to  hide  their  number,  or  ma- 
lignity from  his  own  view.^  His  acknowledgment  is 
frank  and  sincere,  universal  and  unqualified.  Hardly 
can  he  find  words  sufficiently  strong  to  express  his  al> 

VOL.  I.  p 


106  Repentance  of  the  Prodigal. 

horrence  of  their  evil,  his  sense  of  his  own  unworthi- 
ness,  or  the  depth  of  his  self  abasement.  The  holy 
Psalmist  in  his  affliction,  speaks  the  genuine  language 
of  repentance; — Against  thee  only  have  I  simied,  and 
in  thy  sight  done  this  evil.  Mine  iniquities  are  gone 
over  my  head.  They  are  too  Jwavy  for  me  to  bear.  And 
the  convinced  publican  gives  a  just  and  affecting  exam- 
ple of  the  humility,  and  conscious  shame  of  a  sin- 
cere penitent,  when  he  could  not  lift  up  so  much  as  his 
eyes  unto  heaven,  but  smote  upon  his  breast,  saying,  God 
be  merciful  to  me  a  sinner!  He  has  no  plea  in  his 
own  merits  to  offer  to  God  his  father  and  his  judge;  no 
justification  in  his  own  good  intentions,  no  excuse  in 
the  violence  of  temptation.  He  lays  open  his  inmost 
soul  to  the  inspection  of  his  judge.  He  justifies  the 
.sentence  which  condemns  him;  he  condemns  himself. 
— /  have  sinned  against  Heaven,  and  before  thee. 

This  confession  implies  deep,  unfeigned  sorrow  for 
his  manifold  sins  and  offences  against  Almighty  God; 
for  the  dishonours  offered  to  the  glory  of  his  heavenly 
Father,  and  to  the  purity  of  the  law  of  eternal  recti- 
tude. Is  it  for  his  own  miseries  that  he  is  grieved.^ 
For  the  pains  which  vice  brings  after  it  in  the  order  of 
divine  providence.^  Or  even  for  the  eternal  sufferings 
to  which,  by  the  righteous  judgment  of  heaven  it  is 
doomed.''  No,  it  is  simply  for  the  evil  of  his  sins;  for 
the  vileness  of  his  ingratitude,  that  he  is  overwhelmed 
with  repentant  sorrow.  For  when  his  sins  are  most 
freely  forgiven,  and  the  sense  of  that  pardon  most  gra- 
ciously sealed  to  his  heart;  when  most  encouraged  to 
hope  in  the  divine  mercy,  his  fears  are  all  extinguished 


Repentance  of  the  Prodigal.  107 

in  the  blood  of  the  everlasting  covenant,  it  is  then  that 
his  griefs  flow  most  copiously.  It  is  then  that  a  sense 
of  his  ingratitude  opens  new  sources  of  sorrow  in  his 
bosom.  It  is  then  that,  with  David,  he  wets  his  couch 
with  his  tears;  or  with  Peter,  when  the  cock  summoned 
his  sleeping  conscience  to  its  duty,  and  the  compassionate 
look  of  his  master  melted  his  heart,  that  he  goes  out 
and  weeps  bitterly.  God  may  forgive  him ;  but  he  knows 
not  how  to  forgive  himself 

When  the  penitent  prodigal  has  resolved  to  return 
to  his  father,  one  of  the  most  decisive  proofs  of  his 
sincerity,  is  the  promptitude  with  which  he  ^executes 
his  dutiful  resolution.  Does  he  then,  remembering  with 
too  fond  an  attachment,  pleasures  which  he  must  now 
part  with  forever,  study  to  procrastinate  the  moment 
of  separation  .^  Does  he  find  difficulties  in  accomplish- 
ing his  purpose  too  powerful  for  his  virtue.'^  Does  the 
distance  of  the  road  deter  him?  Does  the  strength  of 
dissolute  habits  overcome  him.^  Does  the  shame  of 
his  own  appearance,  all  squalid  and  in  rags,  withhold 
him  from  the  presence  of  his  father?  Does  he  fear 
the  ridicule  of  his  companions?  Or  shrink  from  the 
austerity  of  the  manners  he  must  now  assume?  No, 
he  has  suifered  too  much  from  his  follies  to  be  recon- 
ciled to  them  again;  or  to  hesitate  about  renouncing 
them  with  holy  indignation.  His  ingratitude  has  too 
deeply  penetrated  his  soul  to  suffer  him  to  waver  in  his 
purpose.  The  returning  tide  of  his  affections  is  too 
strong  to  be  resisted.  He  waits  not  to  deliberate.  He 
makes   no  nice  calculation  of  difficulties.     His  zeal 


108  Repentance  of  the  Prodigal. 

bursts  through  every  obstacle;  and  he  hastens  to  throw 
himself  at  the  feet  of  bis  father. 

Here  is  another  analogy  which  strongly  represents 
the  case  of  a  penitent  sinner  in  forming  his  first  reso- 
lutions of  duty.  Many  difficulties  meet  him  in  enter- 
ing on  a  new  course  of  hfe.  The  self-denials  of  re- 
pentance, and  the  duties  of  religion  present  to  him  a 
face  of  gloom  before  he  has  yet  tasted  the  divine  con- 
solations which  flow^  from  a  sense  of  the  presence,  and 
the  most  gracious  favour  of  his  heavenly  Father.  Can 
I,  at  once,  and  entirely,  break  my  connexions  with  the 
world,  with  which  I  have  been  so  intimately  associa- 
ted.^ Can  I,  at  once,  make  such  an  entire  change  in 
all  the  habits  of  life?  Shall  I  be  able  to  bear  the  re- 
proaches, the  sneers,  the  coldness  of  companions  whose 
party  I  must  now  forsake?  Can  I  hold  myself  up  as 
a  spectacle  for  the  observation  and  remarks  of  the 
world,  which  never  remarks  with  candour?  Will  not 
a  gravity  and  seriousness  of  deportment,  an  abstraction 
from  all  the  little  follies,  and  even  the  innocent  gayeties 
of  society  be  expected  from  me  that  I  cannot  support? 

Ah!  w^hen  the  soul  which  has  hitherto  been  the  slave 
o>f  sin,  is  about  to  break  its  chains,  and  enter  on  a  new 
life,  all  the  remains  of  corruption  in  the  heart,  will  rise 
up  to  oppose  the  change,  and  present  to  the  imagina- 
tion every  difficulty,  most  calculated  to  deter  a  young 
convert  from  taking  an  open  and  decided  part  in  favour 
of  religion.  But  if,  with  the  repenting  prodigal,  he  is 
truly  sensible  of  the  evil  and  depth  of  his  iniquities 
against  Almighty  God,  of  the  infelicities  of  his  state, 
of  the  vanity  of  all  his  past  projects  of  happiness: — if 


Repentance  of  the  Prodigal.  1 OJJ 

pricked  in  his  heart,  with  the  hearers  of  the  apostle 
Peter,  on  the  day  of  Pentecost,  it  is  his  soHcitous  in- 
quiry, men  and  brethren!  ivhat  shall  T  do?  If,  hke  the 
penitent  and  beheving  disciples,  looking  up  to  Jesus 
Christ,  he  is  compelled  to  exclaim; — Lord,  to  wliom 
shall  I  go,  tlwu  hast  the  words  of  eternal  life — all  diffi- 
culties will  vanish  before  the  views  of  eternity  which 
will  then  open  upon  the  soul, — will  be  overborne  by  the 
torrent  of  feelings  which  will  then .  deluge  his  heart. 
Shall  I  sacrifice  my  eternal  interests,  may  he  say,  to  a 
false  shame?  Shall  any  pleasure  of  my  own,  if  the 
world  could  now  afford  me  pleasure,  come  in  compe- 
tition with  the  boundless  obligations  of  gratitude  and 
lo\'c  which  1  owe  my  Creator  and  Redeemer.  Shall  I 
shrink  from  ridicule  and  scoffing,  if  it  be  necessary  for 
his  glory,  who  did  not  shrink  from  shame  and  mocking 
and  from  the  agonies  of  the  cross  for  me?  Does  the 
world  whisper  me  that  the  change  which  I  am  about 
to  make,  is  too  great  and  sudden  to  be  supported  with 
consistency,  by  those  who  would,  at  the  same  time, 
maintain  any  reputation  in  society?  And  therefore 
does  it  advise  me  to  break  my  connexions  with  it  only 
by  degrees?  Ah!  false  and  insidious  deceiver!  How 
shall  %  who  am  dead  to  sin,  live  any  longer  therein? 
How  shall  I,  who  am  alive  only  to  the  feehngs  of  duty, 
delay  one  moment,  to  cast  myself  before  the  mercy  seat 
of  my  heavenly  Father? — Does  the  pride  and  error  of 
a  corrupted  heart  insinuate  that  I  ought  first  to  prepare 
for  myself  a  favourable  reception,  before  approaching 
into  the  presence  of  his  hohness,  by  the  merit  of  a  pre- 


110  ^Repentance  of  the  Prodigal. 

vious  course  of  duties.  Alas!  what  merit  is  there  in 
those  outward,  and  heartless  services  which  I  vainly 
call  lyiy  duties?  What  merit  can  a  sinful  mortal  pre- 
sent before  the  throne  of  divine  mercy?  Is  not  the 
whole  system  of  my  salvation  a  system  of  absolute 
grace?  How  can  a  penitent  sinner  appear  most  ac- 
ceptably befui  e  r,od,  but  as  a  humble  suppliant,  re- 
nouncing all  confidence  in  his  own  righteousness,  and 
relying  solely  on  the  gracious  promise  of  Almighty 
God,  through  the  righteousness  of  Jesus  Christ?  Yes, 
unworthy  as  I  am,  and  without  any  plea  to  offer,  but 
my  miseries,  I  will  not  postpone  my  return  to  a  father 
to  whom  penitent  misery,  will  be  always  welcome; — 
who  has  invited  the  weary  and  heavy  laden  to  come  to 
him; — who  offers  to  the  hungry  and  tlie  thirsty,  nine 
and  milk  without  money  and  without  price; — and  who 
has  declared  to  those  who  believe,  though  your  sitis  he 
Wee  scarlet,  they  shall  be  as  ivool;  though  they  be  red  like 
crimson,  they  shall  be  tvhite  as  snoiv.  In  one  word,  who 
proclaims  to  the  ivretched,  the  miserable,  the  blind  and 
the  naked ^  to  sinners  of  every  grade,  him  that  cometh 
to  me,  I  will  in  no  ivise  cast  out.  Yes,  when  the  con- 
vinced and  penitent  prodigal  is  brought  to  this  point, 
neither  the  menaces,  nor  the  blandishments  of  the 
world;  neither  the  example,  nor  persuasions  of  other 
sinners;  neither  the  fear  of  man,  nor  the  seductions  of 
pleasure,  can  delay  or  divert  his  firm  and  holy  resolu- 
tion of  returning  to  God  his  heavenly  Father.  His 
heart  is  full  of  his  father's  goodness. — 7  ivill  arise  and 
go  to  my  father. 


Repentance  of  the  Prodigal  111 

0  penitent  souls!  who  may  be  forming  this  wise  and 
pious  resolution,  may  Almighty  God,  in  his  infinite 
mercy,  grant  you  those  abundant  aids  of  his  grace 
which  are  requisite  to  enable  you  to  fulfil  your  wise 
and  holy  purpose!    Amen! 


THE  RETURN 


PRODIGAL  TO  HIS  FATHER. 


Tlie  third  discourse  on  this  Parable. 

liut,  when  he  was  yet  a  great  way  off,  his  father  saw  him,  and  had  compas- 
sion, and  ran,  and  fell  upon  his  neck  aad  kissed  him.  And  the  son  said 
unto  him;  Father,  I  have  sinned  against  Heaven,  and  in  thy  sight,  and 
am  no  more  worthy  to  be  called  thy  son.  But  the  father  said  to  his  ser- 
vants, bring  forth  the  best  robe  and  put  it  on  him,  and  put  a  ring  on  his 
hand,  and  shoes  on  his  feet:  and  bring  hither  the  fatted  calf,  and  kill  it; 
and  let  us  eat  and  be  merry:  for  this  my  son  was  dead  and  is  alive  again; 
he  was  lost  and  is  found.  And  they  began  to  be  merry.  Luke  XV.  20-2  L 

Christians!  you  have  followed  the  prodigal  through 
the  errors  of  his  youth;  you  have  seen  him  plunged  in 
the  deepest  affliction.  Overwhelmed  with  miseries  in- 
duced by  his  own  misconduct,  he  reproaches  his  folly; 
he  turns  his  view  wistfully  back  on  his  former  happy 
state;  he  recalls  to  mind  the  goodness  of  his  father 
whom  he  had  so  grievously  offended,  and  now  peni- 
tently resolves  to  return  and  implore  his  forgiveness. 
The  benignity  with  which  his  father  receives  him;  the 
joy  with  which  he  embraces  a  profligate  son  restored 
to  a  sense  of  his  duty;  the  image  of  the  divine  com- 
passions towards  penitent  sinners,  is  the  interesting 
matter  which  still  remains  to  be  considered,  and  which 
now  claims  your  serious  attention. 


Return  of  the  Prodigal  113 

Let  us  then  contemplate  the  affecting  images  pre- 
sented to  us  in  this  beautiful  allegory,  that  we  may  de- 
rive from  them  an  encouragement  for  every  sincere 
penitent,  to  hope  in  the  mercy  of  his  heavenly  father, 
notwithstanding  his  manifold.offences. 

The  anxious  father  had  never  withdrawn  his  affec- 
tionate solicitudes  from  this  unduiiful  son,  even  after 
he  had  abandoned  his  family.  His  fond  hopes  had 
still  anticipated  his  return  to  viitue:  his  fervent  pray- 
ers were  continually  addressed  to  Heaven,  that  some 
merciful  correction  in  the  dispensations  of  divine  pro- 
vidence, might  restore  his  lost  child  to  himself:  to  the 
reflections  of  wisdom,  and  to  the  sense  of  his  duty. 
Often  he  turned  his  eyes  to  that  quarter  where  the  un- 
happy youth,  in  departing,  had  vanished  from  his  sight, 
and  from  which,  if  he  ever  should  again  behold  him, 
he  expected  his  return.  He  was  the  lirst,  therefore,  to 
perceive  the  young  man^s  approach.  Though  covered 
with  rags,  squalid  with  disease  and  filth,  and  emacia- 
ted with  want,  yet  a  father's  affection  was  able,  under 
all  these  cruel  disguises,  to  discern  the  traces  of  an 
image  which  love  had  indelibly  inipressed  on  his  heart; 
and  when,  yet  a  great  way  off,  he  recognized  his  son. 
He  saw  him  trembling,  overwhelmed  with  shame,  he- 
sitating in  his  approach,  and  doubtful  of  his  reception. 
The  good  old  man  dissolved  in  tenderness  at  the  sight; 
hastens  to  console,  and  reassure  the  afflicted  penitent. 
And  in  tbe  tumults  of  his  joy  at  again  seeing  him,  and 
seeing  him  returning  to  his  family,  and  his  duty,  he 
could  no  longer  restrain  himself; — he  ran,  he  fell  upon 
his  neck,  he  kissed  him,  and  carried  to  his  heart  the 

VOL.  I.  Q 


114  Return  of  the  Prodigal. 

seal  of  his  pardon,  by  the  ardour,  with  which  he  em- 
braced him. 

What  a  moment  for  the  prodigal,  who  was  approach- 
ing almost  without  liope!  Covered  with  confusion,  and 
oppressed  with  his  own  recollections,  his  heart  swells 
with  a  thousand  emotions,  which,  for  a  time,  suspend  the 
power  of  utterance,  and  break  from  him  only  in  sobs 
and  sighs.  At  length,  he  recovers  himself  so  far  as  to 
begin  his  affecting  confession; — Father,  I  have  sinned 
against  Heaven  and  in  thy  sight,  and  am  no  more  worthy 
to  he  called  thy  son,  lie  would  have  added,  make  me 
as  one  oj  thy  hired  servants! — but  the  impatience  of  his 
father's  eager  sensibility  on  the  occasion  prevented  him; 
and,  before  he  could  fmish  the  sentence  which  was  in  his 
mouth,  orders  are  already  given  to  array  him  with  the 
best  robe;  to  efface  all  the  marks  of  his  former  servi- 
tude and  wretchedness;  and  to  invest  him  with  the 
customary  pledge  in  the  east,  of  his  being  restored  to 
his  rank  and  honour  as  a  son,  by  putting  a  ring  on  his 
hand.  Let  it  be  a  jubilee  in  my  family!  pVepare  a  feast! 
invite  my  friends!  let  all  partake  in  my  joy! — for  this 
my  son  was  dead,  and  is  alive  again,  was  lost,  and  is 
found! 

In  this  beautiful  and  touching  group  of  images,  you 
have  presented  an  interesting  picture  of  the  compas- 
sion and  benignity  of  our  heavenly  Father  towards  his 
guilty  and  offending  children,  who  return  to  him  by; 
sincere  repentance. 

1.  Then  his  patience  and  forbearance  with  the  sin- 
ner during  his  errors. 


Return  of  the  Prodigal.  115 

2.  The  readiness  with  which  he  meets  and  reassures 
the  penitent. 

3.  And  lastly,  the  joy  with  which  he  receives  an 
exiled  son,  on  his  return  to  his  family.  There  is  joy  in 
Heaven,  over  one  sinner  that  repenteth. 

1.  Let  us  contemplate,  in  the  first  place,  the  patience 
with  which  this  indulgent  parent  waits  on  all  the  er-- 
rors  of  an  undutiful  son. 

Instead  of  cutting  him  off  from  the  privileges  and 
hopes  of  his  house,  in  just  displeasure  for  the  abuse  of 
his  goodness,  his  paternal  kiudness  never  forsakes  the 
unhappy  youth,  amidst  all  the  movements  of  his  folly. 
He  waits,  and  hopes,  and  prays  for  his  restoration,  till 
his  excesses,  and  the  sufferings  which  spring  out  of  his 
own  misconduct,  at  last,  bring  him  to  a  just  sense  of 
himself,  and  an  humble  recognition  of  the  beneficence 
of  a  parent  who  had  been  so  unworthily  requitted. 
With  still  greater  benignity,  my  dear  brethren,  do  we 
not  behold,  in  the  whole  order  of  divine  providence, 
the  mercy  and  long-suffering  of  Almighty  God  waiting 
upon  sinners,  while  they  are  forgetful  of  his  holy  claims 
upon  their  duty  and  love:  nay,  while  they  are  boldly 
setting  at  defiance  his  laws,  and  his  almighty  power.^ 
If  he  does  not  cut  them  off  in  the  pursuit  of  their  sin- 
ful pleasures,  if  he  spares  them  in  the  midst  of  so  many 
folhes  and  crimes,  is  it  because  his  holiness  is  not  most 
justly  offended.'^  or,  because  his  power  cannot  reach 
them.^  Surely  not.  But  our  most  merciful  Father  is 
w^aiting  the  operation  of  those  means,  which,  in  the 
benign,  but  corrective  dispensations  of  his  providence, 
he  is  employing  to  bring  them  to  repentance,  and  re- 


116  Return  of  the  Prodigal. 

store  in  their  hearts  the  sentiments  of  obedience  and 
duty.  Let  me  endeavour  to  carry  this  reflection  home 
to  the  bosom  and  feeHngs  of  every  hearer. 

Has  not  your  own  experience,  my  Christian  brother! 
afforded  you  the  most  affecting  proofs  of  the  forbear- 
ance of  Almighty  God,  the  father  of  mercies,  with  your 
manifold  wanderings,  notwithstanding  the  wastes,  to 
use  the  language  of  the  parable,  which  you  have  made 
of  that  portion  of  goods  entrusted  to  your  care;  that  is, 
of  your  time,  your  mental  talents,  your  active  powers, 
your  temporal  blessings,  your  spiritual  privileges.  Life, 
which  you  have  so  often  perverted  from  its  proper 
end,  is  still  prolonged,  to  afford  you  the  opportunities 
of  repentance.  Mercies  which,  alas!  have  been  so  often 
abused,  are  not  yet  withdrawn.     The  means  of  grace, 
and  the  aids  designed  for  the  attainment  of  your  sal- 
vation are  not  only  continued,  but  multiplied.     The 
voice  of  his  providence,  by  which  he  would  recall  you 
to  himself,  is  continually  becoming  more  distinct,  more 
frequent,  and  more  loud.  Impenitent  prodigal!  whoever 
you  may  be,  let  me  speak  to  you  with  plainness,  and 
let  me  intreat  you  to  deal  sincerely  with  your  own 
heart.  Has  not  Almighty  God,  at  some  times,  while  he 
seemed  to  snatch  you  from  imminent  death  threatened 
by  disease,  or  other  alarming  accidents,  carried  to  your 
bosom,  for  a  moment,  the  conviction  that  he  had  recal- 
led you  to  life,  only  to  repeat  the  invitations  of  his  mer- 
cy.^   Has  he  not  on  other  occasions,  by  the  disappoint- 
ment of  your  hopes,  by  painful  suffering,  by  the  dis- 
gusts which  followed  your  excesses,  made  you  a  thou- 
sand times  feel  the  vanity  of  the  world,  and  the  infeli- 


Return  of  the  Prodigal.  117 

city  of  your  pursuits,  only  that  he  might  raise  your 
thoughts  to  higher  and  purer  aims?  When  your  sins, 
perhaps,  have  been  on  the  point  of  exposing  you  to 
public  shame",  and  overwhelming  you  in  ruin,  has  he 
not  mercifully  deHvered  you  from  the  abyss  which  you 
had  prepared  for  yourself,  and  that  was  already  gaping 
beneath  your  feet,  only  that  he  might  impose  upon  you 
new  obligations  of  gratitude  to  his  holy  providence? 
Has  he  not,  by  his  most  blessed  spirit,  often  created 
and  cherished  in  your  breast  many  serious  resolutions 
of  duty,  which  have  been  again,  alas!  extinguished  in 
tlie  cares  or  in  the  pleasures  of  the  world?  Has  he  not 
even  prompted,  and  by  his  grace,  assisted  you,  to  make 
some  feeble  and  tottering  steps  in  your  return  towards 
him?  Has  he  not  waited  on  your  delays?  Has  he  not 
again  and  again  renewed  those  serious  impressions, 
which  you  have  as  often  hastened  to  efface?  By  multi- 
plied mercies,  he  has  graciously  sought  to  attract  you 
to  himself  By  afflictions  he  has  called  you;  he  has  cal- 
led you  by  the  penetrating  remonstrances  of  his  word; 
and  by  the  secret  suggestions  of  your  own  conscience; 
and  has  he  not  sometimes  called  you  by  the  most  in- 
teresting voices  from  the  tomb,  into  which  you  have 
seen  your  dearest  friends  descend  before  you?  And 
this  day  does  he  not  come  to  repeat  so  many  calls? 
0  God!  how  rich  is  thy  mercy!  How  astonishing  thy 
patience  with  worms  of  dust,  who  dare  to  insult  thy 
long  suffering  benignity!  Thou  hast  not  discharged  on 
their  heads  as  thou  justly  mightest,  the  thunders  with 
which  thy  justice  had  armed  thee;  but  thy  mercy  still 
prolongs  to  them  the  season  of  heavenly  grace! 


118  Return  of  the  Prodigal. 

2.  You  perceive,  in  the  next  place,  the  gracious  rea- 
diness with  which  our  heavenly  Father  meets  the  re- 
turn, and  reassures  the  hopes  of  his  prodigal  but  peni- 
tent children. 

This  compassionate  parent,  the  type  of  our  heavenly 
Father,  recognized  his  son,  while  he  was  yet  a  great 
way  off.  Love  had  impressed  an  ineffaceable  image  of 
that  dear,  though  undutifid  youth  upon  his  heart;  and 
parental  affection  preserved  him  ever  attentive  to  re- 
mark the  first  returning  sentiments  of  piety  and  duty, 
for  which,  notwithstanding  all  his  errors,  he  never 
could  entirely  cease  to  hope.  He,  accordingly,  recog- 
nized his  abashed  and  trembling  son,  under  all  the  dis- 
advantages of  his  appearance,  the  first  moment  of  his  ,.. 
arrival;  and  flew  to  meet  him  on  the  wings  of  parental  | 
love. 

What  a  lively  portrait  is  here  traced  of  the  benignity 
and  grace  of  our  Father  who  is  in  heaven!  For,  is  not 
he  who  is  the  author  of  all  beneficence  and  compassion    _ 
in  the  human  breast,  still  more  ready  than  an  earthly  1 
parent,  to  receive  repentant  sinners  to  his  mercy,  who,   1 
notwithstanding  all  their  follies,  are  still  his  children. 
He  looks  with  benignity  on  their  first  wishes  to  regain 
his  favour,  he  assists,  by  his  grace,  their  first  endea- 
vours to  return  to  their  duty — he  sees  them  with  com- 
passion, to  pursue  the  image  of  the  parable,  while  they 
are  yet  a  great  way  off,  and  hastens  to  embrace  them,  ij 
From  afar,  from  eternity,  he  prepared  for  them  that 
astonishing  system  of  grace,  which,  in  the  fulness  of 
ages,  was  displayed  in  all  its  glory  on  the  mount  of 
Calvary.  He  contemplated  them  with  mercy,  in  Christ 


Return  of  the  Prodigal,  119 

Jesus  before  the  foundation  of  the  world.  And  is  it 
not  he,  at  last  who  inspires  them  with  the  penitent  sen- 
timents of  the  returning  prodigal,  and  the  holy  purpo- 
ses and  resolutions  of  sincere  obedience?  And  have 
you. not,  in  these  acts  of  divine  beneficence,  the  strong- 
est demonstrations  of  his  love,  of  his  readiness  to  for- 
give iniquity,  transgression,  and  sin,  and  to  receive  the 
returning  prodigal  to  all  the  blessings  of  his  heavenly 
family?  Penitent  believer!  your  experience  will  speak 
for  God,  and  attest  not  only  the  compassion  with  which 
he  forgives  your  transgressions,  but  the  grace  with 
which  he  anticipated  your  return,  and,  if  I  may  speak 
so,  kindly  urged  and  attracted  you  home.  Is  it  to  your 
own  wisdom,  your  own  good  dispositions,  your  own 
just  reflections  that  you  ascribe  the  first  movements  of 
repentance?  Or  was  it  not  God  himself,  who,  by  some 
powerful  idea  from  his  holy  word,  first  touched  your 
heart;  who.  by  some  aflBicting,  but  merciful  stroke  of 
his  providence,  first  brought  you  to  a  pause  in  the 
course  of  your  iniquities:  who,  by  some  sudden  thought, 
the  origin  of  which  you  could  hardly  trace,  opened  at 
once  upon  your  view  your  sins,  and  the  imminent  dan- 
gers of  your  state,  your  neglected  duties,  and  your  eter- 
nal interests?  Even  after  you  had  formed  the  resolu- 
tions of  returning  to  your  father's  house,  would  you  not 
again,  and  again  have  fallen  back  into  the  vortex  of  the 
worlds  temptations,  if  he  had  not,  by  his  blessed  spirit, 
assisted  your  infirmity,  and  kindled  anew  the  holy  pur- 
poses of  your  soul?  And  when  you  were  faithful  to  the 
grace  received,  did  not  he  increase  its  attractions,  its 
consolations,  its  holy  constraints,  till  he  had  banished 


ISO  Return  of' the  Prodigal 

the  fears  of  guilt,  and  perfectly  assured  your  heart  he- 
fore  him  in  peace?  Yes,  Christian,  he  sees  the  penitent 
and  returning  prodigal  while  he  is  yet  a  great  way  off, 
he  meets  him  with  the  assurance  of  his  love,  he  dis- 
pels his  apprehensions,  he  revives  his  flagging  resolu- 
tions, and  reanimates  his  hopes  when  beginning  to  de- 
spair; nor  leaves  him  till  he  brings  him  home,  and 
makes  him  taste  the  ineffable  joys  of  forgiveness  and 
reconciliation  with  God. 

3.  Finally,  in  this  accumulation  of  tender -images, 
our  blessed  Saviour  would  represent,  not  only  the  mer- 
cy of  God,  to  the  returning  penitent,  but  the  holy  joy 
with  which  he  embraces,  and  restores  him  to  his  hea- 
venly family. 

This  benevolent  father,  who  is  intended  to  exhibit  to 
us  an  image  of  the  highest  human  kindness,  no  sooner 
beholds  his  humble  and  weeping  son,  overwhelmed 
with  the  sense  of  his  miseries,  than  h^  orders  him  to 
be  habited  in  the  best  robe;  adorns  his  hands  with  rings, 
the  symbols  of  pecuhar  favour;  crowns  his  return  with 
feasts,  and  with  every  public  demonstration  of  joy;  and, 
unable  any  longer  to  restrain  his  ecstasies  on  the  occa- 
sion, gives  vent  to  them  in  the  most  affecting  strains, 
— My  son  was  dead,  and  is  alive  again,  was  lost,  and 
is  found. 

In  these  figures  you  behold  the  sinner,  though  stain- 
ed with  many  pollutions,  cleansed  in  the  blood,  and 
clothed  in  the  righteousness  of  the  blessed  Redeemer; 
— ^you  behold  him  raised  to  the  favour  and  the  honours 
which  he  had  forfeited;  you  behold  the  joy  that  is  in 


Return  of  the  Prodigal  i  2  J 

Heaven  over  one  sinner  that  repenteth. — Let  us  review 
these  ideas. 

A  sincere  penitent,  under  the  deep  convictions  of 
his  guilt,  is  ashamed  and  afraid  to  appear  in  the  pre- 
sence of  his  Creator  and  his  Judge.  He  trembles,  he 
hesitates  to  embrace  the  offers  of  the  free  and  abun- 
dant mercy  of  the  gospel.  He  doubts  of  the  applica- 
tion of  that  mercy  to  his  peculiar  case;  for,  in  the  true 
spirit  of  repentance,  he  esteems  himself  among  the 
chief  of  sinners,  and  hardly  dares  to  raise  his  hopes  to 
it.  A  righteousness,  which  completely  fulfils  the  pre- 
cept, and  magnifies  the  justice  of  the  divine  law,  is 
the  only  habit  of  soul,  in  which  he  can  appear  with  ac- 
ceptance in  the  presence  of  infinite  purity.  But  when 
he  reviews  the  past,  and  reenters  into  his  heart,  in 
which  are  concealed  the  polluted  springs  of  his  actions, 
he  sees  there  the  profound  depths  of  his  iniquities.  He 
perceives  innumerable  imperfections  mingled  with  his 
most  holy  services.  In  the  spirit  of  the  prophet,  he 
confesses  that  all  his  righteousnesses  are  like  filthy  rags; 
and  his  iniquities  like  the  winds  have  carried  him  away. 
He  is  overwhelmed  with  confusion,  before  God  most 
holy,  at  the  nakedness  to  which  his  sins  have  reduced 
him.  But,  behold  the  condescension,  the  grace,  the  in- 
finite love  of  his  heavenly  Father!  He  gives  command- 
ment to  clothe  him  in  the  best  robes.  He  covers  all 
his  imperfections  in  the  merits  and  righteousness  of 
Jesus  Christ,  ivho  of  God  is  made  unto  us  imdom  and 
righteousness,  and  sanctification,  and  complete  redemp- 
tion. He  cleanses  him  from  all  his  impurities,  and  re- 
moves the  stains  of  his  former  crimes  in  that  precious 

VOL.  I.  R 


122  Return  of  the  Prodigal. 

blood  which  was  shed  for  the  remission  of  the  sins  of  the 
world.  In  this  beautiful  imagery,  the  trembling  peni- 
tent enjoys  a  new  source  of  consolation  and  hope,  add- 
ed to  a  thousand  gracious  promises  inscribed  in  almost 
every  page  of  the  word  of  God. 

When  this  affectionate  parent  has  arrayed  his  pro- 
digal in  pure  garments,  his  next  care  is  to  restore  him 
to  the  dignity  and  honours  of  his  family.  And,  in  the 
merciful  constitution  of  the  gospel  of  our  salvation,  is 
not  this  grace  attached  to  the  repentance  of  sinners 
that  they  should  be  called  the  sons  of  God?  United  to 
Christ,  they  become  incorporated  with  him  into  his 
heavenly  family;  and,  by  virtue  of  their  head,  are  made 
heirs  of  glory  and  immmortality.  Put  a  ring  on  his 
hand,  saith  the  father,  the  pledge  of  my  love,  and  of  his 
complete  restoration  to  the  privileges  and  honours  of 
my  house.  In  this  precious  symbol,  what  blessings  are 
conferred  on  the  humble,  and  penitent  believer!  What 
glorious  reversions  are  pointed  out  to  him  beyond  the 
grave!  Such  as  eye  hath  not  seen,  nor  ear  heard,  nor 
hath  it  entered  into  the  heart  of  man  to  conceive. — Oh! 
heavenly  Father!  graciously  deign  to  receive  the  senti- 
ments of  our  contrition!  and  make  us,  according  to 
thine  infinite  mercy  in  Christ  Jesus,  partakers  of  the 
blessings  of  thy  children  redeemed  from  sin,  and  from 
everlasting  death! 

But  that  which  our  blessed  Saviour,  in  the  view 
which  I  have  taken  of  this  parable;  may  be  supposed 
chiefly  to  represent  by  the  festivities,  and  all  the  de- 
monstrations of  joy  with  which  this  good  father  cele- 
brates the  return  of  his  unhappy  son,  is  the  holy  joy 


Return  of  the  Prodigal.  123 

with  which  Ahuighty  God  beholds  the  repentance  of  a 
sinner.  Nothing,  Indeed,  in  the  Divine  mind,  can  re- 
semble those  transports  which  an  affectionate  parent 
would  feel  on  recovering  a  beloved  and  lost  child.  But 
our  heavenly  Father,  by  employing  such  tender  images, 
exhibits,  in  the  most  lively  forms  to  the  human  heart, 
his  infinite  benignity,  and  affords  the  penitent  sinner 
the  most  affecting  encouragement  to  repose  his  hope 
in  the  promises  of  his  grace.  The  Lord  is  merciful 
and  gracious,  slow  to  anger,  abundant  in  goodness  and 
truth,  forgiving  iniquity,  transgression,  and  sin.  Jis  I 
live,  saith  the  Lord,  T  delight  not  in  the  death  of  a  sin- 
ner, but  rather  that  he  should  turn  to  me  and  live.  His 
tender  mercies  are  over  all  his  works.  And  my  beloved 
brethren,  do  we  not  behold  these  most  precious  truths 
shining  in  the  whole  structure  of  the  universe,  and  in 
the  whole  order  of  providence,  in  every  part  of  which 
infinite  goodness  presides  along  with  infinite  wisdom, 
and  infinite  power  for  the  happiness  of  his  creatures. 

But  the  most  transcendent  proof  of  the  love  of  God, 
and  his  joy,if  I  may  speak  so,  at  seeing  his  undutiful  chil- 
dren returning  to  his  family,  and  to  their  own  happiness, 
you  behold  in  the  life  and  the  death,  the  incarnation 
and  the  cross  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ.  What  brought 
the  Son  of  God,  who  inhabits  the  praises  of  eternity,  to 
this  abode  of  frailty  and  misery.^  What  led  him  to  sub- 
mit to  the  humiliation,  and  afflictions  of  this  mortal 
state.'*  Why  did  he  offer  himself,  for  the  guilt  of  hu' 
man  nature,  to  the  stroke  of  eternal  justice?  Can  in- 
finite benevolence  demonstrate  by  stronger  prpofs,  or 
paint  in  colours  more  worthy  of  Heaven,  that  love 


12  4f  Return  of  the  Prodigal, 

which  passeth  all  understanding,  that  boundless  com- 
passion with  which  the  Redeemer  is  ready  to  embrace 
the  repenting  sinner,  that  divine  and  ineffable  joy  with 
which  he  receives  into  his  bosom  the  tears  of  their  con- 
trition, the  pledges  of  their  duty?  Here,  0  penitent  souls! 
behold  your  encouragement  to  flee  to  the  refuge  of  his 
mercy,  from  the  denunciations  of  the  law;  from  the  cry 
of  the  avenger  of  blood.  Here  behold  the  security  with 
which  you  may  rest  on  the  promises^  and  the  grace  of 
the  gospel. 

If  God,  who  is  the  fountain  of  love,  rejoices  over 
you;  if  the  Saviour  rejoices  to  see  the  fruit  of  his  suf- 
ferings and  death,  there  is  joy  also  in  heaven  above,  and 
in  the  church  on  earth  over  one  sinner  that  repenteth.— 
The  servants,  the  whole  household,  the  friends  of  the 
happy  father  are  all  invited  to  partake  in  his  happiness, 
and  do  not  all  good  men,  who  are  animated  with  the 
same  spirit  which  breathed  so  fervently  in  their  blessed 
Master;  do  not  the  angels,  those  ministering  spirits 
who  a*e  sent  forth  to  minister  to  the  heirs  of  salvation, 
indulge  a  holy  triumph  in  seeing  continually  new  ac- 
cessions to  the  kingdom  of  grace,  and  new  heirs  to  the 
kingdom  of  glory?  Yes,  piety  must  ever  rejoice  in  be- 
holding the  designs  of  divine  love  advancing  upon  earth; 
and  contemplating  the  progressive  victories  of  evange- 
lic truth  over  the  kingdom  of  error  and  of  darkness. 

Oh!  ineffable  goodness  and  condescension  of  Al- 
mighty God!  His  patience  is  not  exhausted,  his  love  is 
not  quenched,  even  by  your  iniquities!  If  pressed  then, 
by  the  calamities,  the  shame,  the  disappointments  which 
your  follies  liave  brought  upon  you,  in  that  far  country 


Return  of  the  Prodigal  125 

to  which  you  had  impiously  fled  from  his  presence;  if 
urged  by  your  convictions,  and  the  reproaches  of  your 
own  heart,  you  have  been  brought  to  this  pious  and 
wholesome  resolution,  I  ivill  ansa  and  go  to  my  father; 
behold  he  stands  ready  to  embrace  you;  he  runs  to 
meet  you,  while  you  are  yet  a  great  way  ofl";  he  is  rea- 
dy abundantly  to  supply  your  wants;  he  will  clothe 
your  nakedness;  he  will  raise  you  to  honour;  he  will 
acknowledge  you  as  his  son;  he  will  rejoice  over  you 
with  immortal  joy. 

Suffer  me  now  in  the  conclusion,  to  call  your  atten- 
tion again  to  the  gracious  condescension  of  God  our 
Saviour.  What  accumulated  proofs  does  he  offer,  not 
only  in  this  parable,  but  throughout  the  sacred  scrip- 
tures, to  reassure  and  comfort  the  penitent  soul  op- 
pressed with  the  sense  of  its  guilt!  The  convinced  con- 
science, under  a  full  discovery  of  its  sins,  is  prone  in 
the  first  paroxysms  of  the  humbling  conviction,  to  dis- 
trust the  promises  of  divine  grace  as  extending  to  an 
object  so  unworthy.  It  ascribes  a  peculiar  malignity  to 
its  sins,  as  if  they  transcended  the  mercy  of  our  hea- 
venly Father,  whose  nature  is  love.  The  ever  blessed 
Redeemer,  therefore,  knowing  the  conscious  timidity 
of  guilt,  has  multiplied  the  assurances,  and  examples 
of  his  grace,  in  order  to  remove,  if  possible,  every  doubt 
which  its  fears  could  suggest.  Often  the  alarmed  con- 
science is  prone  to  represent  the  limited  season  of  the 
divine  mercies  as  entirely  past.  Never,  0  penitent 
soul!  while  the  period  of  your  probation  is  still  prolong- 
ed, and  your  heavenly  Father  is  waiting  to  receive  your 
return;  never,  while  the  means  of  grace  are  offering 


126  Return  of  the  Prodigal 

you  their  aid,  and  the  calls  of  the  gospel  are  sounding 
in  your  ears. — Never,  while  the  Holy  l^pirit  is  speak- 
ing to  your  heart;  while  he  is  moving  on  the  face  of 
the  waters,  to  bring  to  order  the  chaos  of  corrupted 
nature,  and  to  compose  your  disordered  affections. 
Never,  while  he  is  awaking  in  your  souls  those  desires 
after  salvation  which  demonstrate  that  he  has  not  for- 
saken you;  desires,  which  he  alone  could  create;  which 
he  alone  can  satisfy;  and  which  he  thus  rouses  into 
these  holy  actings,  only  that  he  may  most  abundantly 
satisfy. 

Fulfdl,  0,  heavenly  Father!  our  humble  and  fervent 
desires!  and  receive  to  the  arms  of  thy  mercy,  thy  return- 
ing prodigals!    Amen! 


I 


ON  SWEARING  IN  COMMON  CONVERSATION. 


Above  all  things,  my  brethren,  swear  not. — James,  V.  12. 

An  oath  for  confirmation  is  the  end  of  all  strife.  And 
in  the  administration  of  civil  justice,  the  laws  are  often 
obliged  to  appeal  to  that  reverence  of  the  Supreme  Be- 
ing, vs^hich  nature  has  impressed  upon  the  hearts  of 
men,  to  strengthen  their  natural  respect  for  truth  in 
rendering  testimony.  This  immediate  appeal  to  Al- 
mighty God,  on  proper  occasions,  so  far  from  being  re- 
fused by  religion,  is  sanctioned  by  its  highest  authority. 
The  only  restriction  v^hich  it  imposes  is,  that,  in  as- 
suming an  oath,  thou  shall  not  take  the  name  of  the 
Lord  thy  God  in  vain.  The  indiscriminate  and  irre- 
verent use  of  oaths  had  infected,  in  a  high  degree,  the 
common  discourse  of  the  pagan  nations  in  the  age  of 
the  apostle.  This  profane  abuse,  on  trivial  occasions, 
of  names  that  were  held  sacred,  is  proscribed,  in  the 
text  with  positive  authority,  and  with  a  holy  and  indig- 
nant zeal.  The  apostle  would  preserve  the  awful  name 
of  the  eternal,  with  the  most  sacred  reverence  only  for 
his  solemn  worship,  or  for  the  most  important  purposes 
of  society.  In  the  same  spirit  does  religion  reprehend 
all  customary  swearing,  and  inconsiderate  imprecations 
in  the  common  intercourse  of  mankind  with  one  ano- 


128  On  Swearing. 

ther.  No  vice  admits  of  less  palliation^  and  none  per- 
haps, has  become  more  audacious  and  unblushing  in 
f  its  exercise.  Unhappily  we  see  it,  not  confined  to  the 
classes  of  ignorance  and  debauchery,  it  has  become  the 
disgrace  of  those  who  boast  a  better  education  and 
hold  a  higher  rank  in  society.  It  seeks  not  conceal- 
ment, as  other  vices  do,  nor  does  it  attempt  to  bury  its 
shame  in  the  shades  of  night;  but  is  spreading  a  bane- 
ful infection  through  our  social  manners,  in  which  no 
language  should  be  heard  that  is  not  delicate  and  chaste, 
and  conformed  to  the  rules  of  piety  and  virtue.  It 
would  seem  indeed,  as  if  the  peculiar  sanctity  of  our 
religion,  by  imparting  more  grand  and  awful  concep- 
tions of  the  Divine  Nature,  had  only  rendered  unworthy 
christians  capable  of  a  more  frightful  impiety. 

To  demonstrate  the  sinfulness  of  common  and  pro- 
fane swearing, — its  unreasonableness, — and  its  inu- 
tility to  those  ends  which  men  think  to  serve  by  it,  is 
the  object  of  the  present  discourse. 

1.  The  sinfulness  of  this  practice,  under  which  I  in- 
clude all  oaths,  execrations,  and  profane  exclamations 
in  common  discourse,  all  those  light  and  frivolous  in- 
vocations of  sacred  names,  so  often  uttered  through 
habit,  or  employed  to  give  vent  to  the  ebullitions  of 
passion,  or  of  any  sudden  and  silly  surprise,  will  be 
manifest  on  considering,  for  a  moment,  the  disrespect 
which  it  offers  to  God  our  maker — the  evil  which  it 
causes  to  men  themselves — and  the  injury  which  results 
from  it  to  the  best  interests  of  society. 

Above  all  things,  saith  the  apostle,  swear  not;  placing 
this  vice  in  the  highest  grade  of  crimes  against  the 


On  Swearing.  129 

purity  of  social  intercourse,  and  that  sacred  reverence 
which  creatures  owe  to  the  supreme  Creator.  ^^  hat, 
indeed,  can  strike  the  ear  of  piety  with  greater  horror 
than  a  light  irreverent  invocation  of  the  name  of  Al- 
mighty God, — of  him  who  hath  made  the  heavens  and 
all  the  Jwst  of  them  by  the  breath  of  his  month;  at  whose 
look'the  earth  trembles,  and  the  foundations  of  the  ever- 
lasting hills  are  moved?  The  law  of  Moses,^  which  is 
no  other  than  the  law  of  God,  surrounds  and  guards  this 
holy  name  with  the  most  profound  veneration  and  awe. 
The  Jewish  nation  called  it  the  unutterable  name;  and 
never  dared  to  pronounce  it,  but  in  the  most  serious 
form,  and  on  the  most  solemn  occasions.  To  the  praise 
of  some  of  the  greatest  men  who  have  ever  adorned 
the  annals  of  piety,  or  science,  it  is  recorded,  that  they 
never  spoke  of  God,  without  preceding  that  holy  name 
by  a  serious  pause,  accompanied  with  a  secret  act  of 
mental  adoration.*  But  why  speak  we  of  men  ?  The 
angels  of  heaven  are  represented  as  veiling  themselves 
in  deepest  humility  before  the  eternal,  unable  steadfast- 
ly to  look  towards  the  throne  of  his  holiness.  Listen  to 
the  noble  rhapsody  of  the  prophet  Isaiah; — I  beheld  the 
Lord  upon  a  throne  high  and  lifted  up,  and  his  train 
filled  the  temple.  Before  him  stood  the  Seraphim.  Each 
one  had  six  icings — with  twain  he  covered  his  face— 

*  This  sacred  revercuce  for  tlie  name  of  God,  is  so  conformable  to  every 
pilnciple  of  reason,  thai  in  the  moral  writings  of  heathen  sages,  «c  fiud  it 
enjoined,  as  well  as  in  the  oracles  of  our  holy  religion.  "The  i  ame  of 
the  Divine  Being,"  says  Plato,  "  ought  never  to  be  employed  on  light  and 
trivial  occasions."  And  another  Greek  moralist  adds  that  the  true  way  to 
preserve  that  veneration  which  ought  ever  to  be  paid  to  the  Divine  Na- 
ture, is  to  abstain  from  every  irreverent  use  of  his  name. 

VOL.  I.  S 


130  On  Swearing. 

with  twain  he  covered  his  feet — and  with  twain  he  did 
fly.  And  one  cried  to  another,  and  said,  holy!  holy! 
holy!  is  the  Lord  of  hosts!  the  ivhole  earth  is  full  of  his 
glory!  And,  is  it  for  worms  of  the  dust,  whose  breath 
is  in  their  nostrils,  to  insult  that  Being  of  Beings,  who 
made  them  by  his  power,  who  can  consume  them  with 
the  breath  of  his  mouth;  but  who  still  spares  them  in  the 
midst  of  dieir  crimes,  only  to  afford  them  the  oppor- 
tunity and  the  means  of  repentance.  Is  it  for  misera- 
ble mortals,  in  their  mirth,  or  in  their  cups,  irreverently 
to  toss  that  holy  and  venerable  name  from  their  impure 
mouths,  and  to  make  it  the  vehicle  of  their  wrath,  or 
their  sport?  Oh  impiety!  oh  blasphemy! — How  are  the 
ears  of  piety  wounded!  how  is  reason  revolted!  It  is  a 
crime,  it  would  appear,  without  motive,  without  temp- 
tation, without  excuse;  committed  in  the  mere  wanton- 
ness of  impiety. 

Do  men  ever  treat  the  respected  characters  of  those 
whom  they  revere  or  love,  with  the  same  indecent  li- 
cense? Would  it  not  be  deemed  the  last  outrage  of  a 
disciple  on  his  master,  of  a  dependent  on  his  benefac- 
tor, of  a  child  on  his  parent,  of  a  profligate  wretch  on  a 
man  of  worth?  In  what  light  then  ought  we  to  regard 
it  in  a  worm  of  dust  towards  the  Lord  of  nature,  our 
Creator  and  our  Saviour?  0  God!  how  long  will  thy 
forbearance  spare  the  follies  of  impious  mortals!  Above 
all,  when  they  deal  their  execrations  on  their  fellow 
worms,  or  imprecate  thy  vengeance  on  their  own  heads; 
holy  and  righteous  God!  will  the  thunders  of  thy  jus- 
tice forever  sleep!  Ah!  profane  sinner!  if  God  should 
blast  thee  in  his  wrath  while  thy  mouth  is  filled  with 


On  Sweming.  131 

cursing  and  bitterness,  would  not  thy  conscience,  in 
perishing,  justify  the  rig;our  of  his  judgment?  Is  God 
eternal  andmost  holy;  is  Christ  Redeemer  of  the  world, 
a  name  to  be  thrown  from  impious  lips  in  anger,  or  li- 
centious sports;  with  which  to  vent  your  ruffian  rage, 
or  assist  your  buffoonery;  to  express  your  chagrin  in  an 
unfortunate  game,  to  dash  with  youi*  drunken  cups,  or 
to  aid  you  in  dragging  to  dishonour  and  ruin  the  delud- 
ed^ictim  of  perfidious  vows?  Is  it  a  name  with  which 
to  season  impure  discourse,  to  help  out  a  miserable 
jest  among  fools,  who  mistake  profanity  for  wit,  to  stop 
the  gaps  of  conversation,  and  supply  a  wretched  va- 
cuity of  head?  A  pious  mind  shudders  at  such  pro- 
fanation. Do  you  ask,  then,  if  the  same  reproach  is 
to  be  passed  on  those  inferior  forms  of  swearing 
which  persons  of  vulgar  taste  are  prone  to  blend 
with  their  discourse,  by  certain  saints,  or  heathen  dei- 
ties, and  a  hundred  other  silly,  and  unmeaning  names? 
If  they  do  not  strike  the  ear  with  equal  horror,  they 
surely  are  not  less  worthy  the  deepest  reproach  Every 
departure  from  the  plain  and  dignified  language  of  truth 
proceeds  from  some  wrong  principle.  Thou  shall  not 
swear  by  heaven,  nor  by  the  earth,  nor  by  any  other  oath,  \ 
When  oaths  and  profanity  form  the  common  style  of  ^  \ 
conversation,  they  detract  from  the  respectability  of 
any  character.  They  even  tend  to  impair  that  confi- 
dence in  a  man's  veracity  which  a  decent  and  well  re- 
gulated conversation,  always  weighed  in  the  balances 
of  reason  and  virtue  will  naturally  create.  Assimilated 
in  his  language  to  the  lowest  characters  in  society,  we 
are  ready  to  ascribe  to  him  the  same  grossness  of  mind, 
and  the  same  defect  of  virtuous  sentiment,  however  it 


13:2  On  Stvearing. 

may,  in  some*instances,  be  more  decently  varnished  by 
the  forms  of  civility. 
•N.  Saint  Chrysostom,  in  a  still  warmer  strain  of  indig- 
nation, charges  the  habit  with  the  foul  stain  of  perjury. 
He,  says  that  holy  and  eloquent  orator,  tvho  habitually 
-swears  in  his  discourse,  both  intentionally  and  inadver- 
tently; on  subjects  on  which  he  is  ignorant,  no  less  than 
on  those  ivithin  his  knowledge,  in  jest,  as  well  as  in 
earnest;  just  as  he  happens  to  be  impelled,  must  fre- 
quently be  liable  to  the  charge  of  perjury.  What,  in- 
deed, is  this  obvious  crime,  but  invoking  Almighty  God, 
as  the  witness  perhaps  of  a  falsehood;  of  a  threat  that 
will  never  be  executed,  of  a  promise  that  will  never  be 
performed,  of  a  fact  that  does  not  exist;  or  which  in 
the  law  of  morality,  is  the  same  in  its  effect,  of  which 
we  have  no  certain  ground  of  belief?  Ah!  how  many 
rash  assertions  must  they,  who  indulge  in  this  perni- 
cious habit,  unguardedly  utter;  attesting,  at  the  same 
time,  the  holy  name  of  God,  and  imprecating  on  their 
own  falsehood  his  terrible  damnation?  Forgive  me, 
christians!  this  harsh  language,  which  they  so  freely 
employ  against  themselves  to  their  great  reproach  an 
the  injury  of  their  own  souls. 

Blasphemers  of  the  name  of  your  God!  give  to  these 
reflections  your  most  serious  attention.  Ah!  what  is 
it  thoughtlessly,  or  falsely  to  obtest  the  living  and  eter- 
nal God,  the  Creator  of  heaven  and  earth?  What  is 
it  to  defy  omnipotence,  or,  in  the  madness  of  our  folly 
to  imprecate,  upon  our  own  souls,  his  curse,  whose 
wrath  burns  to  the  lowest  Hell? 

This  vice  merits,  in  the  next  place,  the  most  pointed 


i 


On  Sifjearins:.  13S 


"& 


reprobation,  for  the  injury  it  creates  to  the  civil  inte- 
rests of  mankind.     He  who  weakens  the  rehgion  and 
sanctity  of  all  oath,  loosens  the  strongest  bonds  of  our 
political  associations.     The  fear  of  God  is  the  most 
powerful  principle  of  justice  in  the  human  breast;  and 
an  appeal  to  God  as  the  witness  and  judge  of  our  sin- 
cerity, is  the  surest  pledge  of  truth  to  society.  JV'o  obli- 
gation, says  the  great  Roman  orator,  is  more  effectual 
to  secure  the  Jidelity  of  mankind  than  an  oath.     But 
Cicero  made  this  declaration  when  the  simplicity  of 
Roman  manners  was  not  yet  entirely  corrupted.     For, 
afterwards,  in  the  extreme  degeneracy  of  the  empire, 
the  Romans  became  liable  to  the  same  reproach  which 
a  great  historian  has  made  to  the  Greeks,  in  conse- 
quence of  the  introduction  of  an  universal  luxury  of 
manners,  and  the  prevalence  of  an  Atheistical  philo- 
sophy; that  they  could  not  he  hound  hy  any  oaths,  or 
pledges  of  their  tnUh.     And  surely  a  customary  pro- 
fanation of  the  divine  names  and  attributes,  is  the  most 
direct  way  to  obliterate  the  fear  of  God  from  the  minds 
of  those  whose  tongues,  or  whose  ears  have  become 
familiar  with  this  unhallowed  language. 

I  will  not  assert  that  every  person  who  disgraces  his 
conversation  by  a  thoughtless  profanity,  will  not  fear  a 
false  oath  when  solemnly  called  to  recollect  himself, 
and  the  presence  of  his  Cieator, before  a  tribunal  of 
justice:  but  surely  no  habit  more  obviously  tends  to 
this  unhappy  consequence,  so  dangerous  to  the  interests 
of  our  social  union.  Above  all,  when  ignorance  is 
led  by  your  example,  lightly  to  pronounce,  and  violate 
the  most  awful  oaths,  the  most  deteriorating  eifects  are 


134  On  Siuearing.' 

justly  to  be  apprehended  to  our  civil  institution,  to  fol- 
low in  rapid  succession. 

II.  After  exhibiting  the  enormity  of  this  vice,  as  in- 
volving a  direct  offence  against  the  duty  of  a  creature 
to  his  Creator,  it  might  seem  superfluous  or  improper 
to  argue  against  it  on  the  ground  of  its  indecency,  were 
it  not  that  many  men  are  still  governed  by  certain  sen- 
timents of  propriety,  long  after  they  have  lost  their  re- 
verence for  religion.  And  may  I  not  ask  if  this  vice 
is  not  a  gross  violation  of  that  amiable  and  benevolent 
character  which  every  christian  sh(*uld  be  peculiarly 
solicitous  to  preserve,  of  a  delicate  attention  to  the  feel- 
ings of  others,  and  endeavour  to  place  them  at  ease, 
and  render  them  satisfied  with  themselves  and  with  us? 
Whatsoever  things  are  lovely,  saith  the  great  apestle, 
if  there  be  any  virtue,  if  there  be  any  praise,  think  of 
these  things.  It  would  be  giving  a  darker  picture  of 
the  public  manners,  than,  I  presume,  they  yet  deserve, 
if  we  should  not  suppose  that  few  companies  can  be 
assembled,  in  which  there  are  not  some  persons,  and 
those  probably  of  the  best  taste,  and  of  the  most  amia- 
ble or  respectable  characters  whom  it  deeply  wounds 
to  hear  the  adorable  names  of  their  Creator,  and  Re- 
deemer treated  with  a  rude  impiety.  How  unworthy, 
I  do  not  say,  of  a  pious  man,  but  of  a  man  of  cultivated 
manners,  to  pay  no  regard  to  sentiments  so  worthy,  to 
feehngs  so  just  and  noble!  If  the  modesty  of  these  good 
men,  or  their  love  of  peace  prevent  them  from  expres- 
sing the  just  indignation  with  which  they  are  wanued 
at  the  dishonour  done  to  religion;  if  their  meek  piety 
leads  them  to  pray  for  the  offender  rather  than  re- 


On  Swearing.  135 

proach  him,  the  insult  upon  their  feehngs  is  the  more 
inexcusable.  Nor  is  it  much  palhated  by  that  absurd 
preference  of  politeness  to  religion,  which  sometimes 
leads  a  man  to  ask  pardon  of  a  grave  and  reverend 
person  who  may  happen  to  be  present,  for  a  profane 
expression,  which  has  escaped  him,  while,  at  the  same  • 
time,  he  treats  with  open  disrespect  the  awful  pre- 
sence of  Almighty  God. 

Genuine  good  breeding,  besides  its  delicate  atten- 
tions to  the  sensibilities  of  others,  ever  connects  with 
them  a  certain  refinement  in  our  mental  tastes.  This 
forms,  indeed,  the  principal  distinction  between  barba- 
rian and  civilized  society.  And  the  most  polished  class- 
es of  the  latter,  always  study  to  exhibit  in  their  conver- 
sation a  picture  of  the  elegance  and  cultivation  of  their 
minds.  But  is  any  rational  train  of  thought  expressed  by 
profanity.'^  Does  it  contain  any  indication  of  true  re- 
finement? On  the  contrary,  is  it  not  a  proof  of  vulgar 
manners  and  a  gross  taste?  It  sinks  conversation  to 
the  coarse  level  of  the  streets.  It  is  accordindv,  in 
Europe,  almost  wholly  excluded  from  the  intercourse 
of  the  higher  ranks  of  life,  as  a  disgraceful  symptom 
of  vulgar  education.  Ifj  unhappily,  delicacy  has  been 
less  observed  in  our  own  country,  it  is  only  because, 
among  us  the  highest  improvements  in  society  have  not 
been  generally  aimed  at.  Hardly  have  any  other  distinc- 
tions been  established  but  such  as  the  possession  and 
pursuits  of  money  create.  Adventurers  in  a  new  world, 
having  too  often  acquired  sudden  wealth,  have  not  been 
able,  in  a  more  elevated  station,  to  lay  aside  the  rude- 
ness of  their  first  habits.     And  if  children's  children. 


136  On  Sivearing. 

inheriting  a  fortune  accumulated  by  their  grandsires, 
have  forgotten  whence  they  were  sprung,  yet  tiiis  re- 
maining vestige  of  uncultivated  manners,  and  defect 
of  moral  education,  might  make  them  look  back  with 
shame,  to  the  recent  vulgarity  of  their  original,  and 
lead  them  to  hasten  to  extinguish  the  remembrance  of 
it,  by  a  more  pure,  and  chaste  conversation. 

III.  Let  us  consider,  in  the  next  place,  what  apo- 
logies, or  what  excuses  men,  in  their  folly,  have  been 
prone  to  plead  for  this  outrage  upon  religion,  and  on 
decent  morals.  Seldom^  indeed,  do  they  ever  attempt 
its  justification.  They  only  seek  to  find  palliations  of 
its  grossness  or  impiety.  It  is  committed,  they  say, 
without  thought, — it  is  not  accompanied  with  any  in- 
tentional disrespect  to  religion, — it  is  an  effect  merely 
of  momentary  passion,  or  of  wine. 

Without  thought!  what  folly!  nay,  what  depravity  of 
heart!  in  which  crimes  of  this  dark  colouring  can  excite 
no  reflection!  Do  you  pretend  that  it  is  not  accompanied 
with  intentional  impiety.?  May  not  this  absurd  apolo- 
gy be  equally  pleaded  for  every  s\u?  The  immediate 
aim  of  vice,  is  not  to  offend  Almighty  God;  it  is  to  gra- 
tify ourselves:  but  this  gratification,  the  sinner  pursues 
in  contempt  of  his  laws,  and  in  violation  of  the  duty  of 
a  creature  to  his  Creator.  It  is  his  crime,  that  God  is 
not  in  all  his  thoughts.  And  of  this  sin  it  is  the  pecu- 
liar aggravation,  that  it  tends  more  directly  than  any 
other,  in  its  very  commission,  to  recal  the  divine  pre- 
sence to  his  mind,  which  he  forgets,  despises,  or  in- 
sults. If  you  excuse  it  as  the  effect  of  passion,  which 
you  cannot  repress,  or  of  wine  which  inflames  the 


On  Swearing.  137 

brain.  What  crime  may  you  not  justify  on  similar 
grounds?  Is  not  wine  the  parent  of  lust  and  of  quar- 
rels? Are  not  robbery,  violence,  murder,  the  fruits  of 
intemperate  passion? 

Would  you  accept  the  same  apology  from  your  ser- 
vants, from  your  dependent,  from  your  child?  Ah!  it  is 
only  adding  crime  to  crime;  and  while  you  think  you 
excuse,  you  are  only  aggravating  the  offence. 

I  request  your  attention,  christians!  in  the  last  place, 
to  the  folly  of  this  vice,  which  appears  in  its  utter  inu- 
tility even  to  those  foohsh  ends  which  men  usually  hope 
to  gain  by  it:  for,  most  assuredly,  it  can  never  increase 
our  favourable  opinion  of  the  veracity,  the  wit,  or  the 
courage  of  the  common  swearer. 

Weak,  indeed,  must  he  be  who  hopes  to  strengthen 
his  credibility  by  oaths  and  cursings.  If  his  upright 
character  do  not  give  weight  to  his  assertions,  they  can 
derive  none  from  his  impiety.  What  barriers  of  truth 
and  virtue  are  able  to  restrain  that  man  from  pursuing 
any  end  to  which  his  passions  impel  him,  whose  pious 
principles  are  not  sufficient  to  preserve  him  from  in- 
sulting the  Most  High  God,  by  profaneness  and  blas- 
phemy? A  very  coarse  but  common  proverb,  with 
which  every  hearer  is  acquainted,  demonstrates  the  ge- 
neral impression  on  the  minds  of  men  to  be,  that  habi- 
tual profaneness  is  usually  accompanied  with  a  very 
doubtful  veracity.  And  that  poet  drew  his  observation 
from  human  nature,  who,  to  caution  innocence  against 
the  arts  of  a  seducer,  has  said; — "  but  if  he  swear,  nay 
then,  hell  certainly  deceive  you.'' 

VOL.  I.  T 


138  On  Swearing. 

Does  not  that  man  offer  the  greatest  affront  to  his 
own  truth  and  honour  who  confesses,  by  this  practice, 
that  they  stand  in  need  of  this  equivocal  support? 

Some  men  have  unhappily  adopted  a  false  and  per- 
nicious notion  that  profaneness  serves  to  increase  the 
zest  of  their  wit.  A  repartee,  they  think,  has  some- 
thing more  smart;  a  story  has  a  more  hvely  air,  that  is 
seasoned  by  an  oath.  And  the  impious  strain  of  dia- 
logue kept  up  in  a  multitude  of  miserable  farces,  exhi- 
bited ill  our  theatres  to  attract  the  populace,  has 
strengthened  this  mistaken  notion  in  those  young  men 
who  have  little  education  besides  what  they  derive  from 
these  schools;  and  few  principles  of  taste,  or  morals, 
except  such  as  are  borrowed  from  a  misconducted 
drama.  It  is  a  poor  and  low  conception  of  wit,  to  ima- 
gine that  it  is  in  any  way  alHed  to  irreligion.  There 
may  be  ribaldry,  there  may  be  buffoonery,  there  may 
be  an  odd  assemblage  of  profane  expressions  to  make 
the  vulgar  laugh,  but  there  cannot  be  wit.  I  deny  not 
that  there  have  been  profligate  and  profane  men  who 
have  been  witty:  but  it  was  not  the  profanity  of  their 
discourse  that  constituted  its  wit. — Yet,  this  unfortunate 
association,  which  sometimes  takes  place,  has  misled 
many  a  vain  youth,  who  has  been  ambitious  to  imitate 
the  vivacity  of  their  genius,  but  has  caught  only  their 
irreligion.  Much  to  be  pitied,  if  not  contemned,  are 
those  young  men,  who  imagine  that  impiety  is  any  in- 
dication of  talents,  or  that  its  language  can  add  any 
ornament  to  discourse.  It  is,  on  the  other  hand,  an 
almost  infaUible  criterion  of  shallowness  of  thought, 


On  Su'caring.  139 

and  of  circumscribed  ideas.     It  is  a  vulgar  and  impov- 
erished substitute  for  wit. 

The  last  and  almost  the  silliest  error  in  judgment 
on  this  subject,  is  seen  in  those  young  men  who  affect 
a  profanity  of  lansjuage,  in  order  to  impress  the  world 
with  a  wonderful  opinion  of  their  courage,  by  seem- 
ing to  have  risen  fairly  above  the  fear  of  God.  True 
courage  is  a  calm,  and  firui,  and  dignified  principle.  A 
profane  may  be  a  brave  man; but  the  blusterings  and 
ravings  of  impiety  are  very  equivocal  symptoms  of  real 
magnanimity;  and,  more  frequently,  they  are  mere  arts 
to  supply  the  want  of  it.  it  is  not  uncommon,  and  if 
the  scene  were  not  too  gross,  we  might  be  amused,  to 
see  two  vile  and  pusillanimous  wretches,  trying  to  fiigh- 
ten  one  another,  or  to  lash  up  their  own  spirits  to  a 
little  effort  by  horrible  blasphemies.  But,  alas!  they 
inspire  no  person  with  any  belief  of  their  bravery,  un- 
less it  be  the  impious  audacity  of  braving  the  terrors 
of  Almighty  God,  only  while  they  vainly  suppose  them 
at  a  safe  distance.  For,  ah!  when  he  shall  appear  to 
avenge  his  violated  law%  and  vindicate  the  insulted 
glory  of  his  name,  what  aff'right,  what  horrible  dismay 
shall  seize  upon  these  false  bravoes!  Whither  then 
shall  be  fled  all  their  impious  courage,  when  they  be- 
hold that  God  arrayed  for  judgment  whom  they  had 
so  often  defied.''  when  they  see  the  flames  of  that  dam- 
nation kindled,  which  they  had  so  often  imprecated  on 
their  own  heads.'^  Jehovah!  it  is  because  thou  art  God 
and  not  man,  that  thou  dost  not  smite  them  on  the  in- 
stant, and  sink  them  down  to  perdition  with  the 
streams  of  their  blasphemy  issuing  from  their  lips! 


140        #  On  Swearing 

In  the  conclusion  of  this  discourse,  let  me  present  to 
youinasingle  view  the  united  prospect  of  the  evils  which 
we  have  seen  associated  with  this  reproachful  vice  It 
displays  a  high  insult  on  the  glory  and  perfection  of  Al- 
mighty God — it  brings  dishonour,  added  to  the  guilt  of 
perjury  on  the  soul — it  is  an  outrage  upon  good  man- 
ners, and  deeply  injures  the  best  interests  of  society — 
it  is  equally  without  reason  and  without  excuse — and, 
finally,  it  accomplishes  not  one  of  the  ends  which  a  pro- 
fane man  thinks  to  serve  by  it,  either  to  raise  the  repu- 
tation of  his  veracity,  his  wit,  or  his  courage.  In  one 
word,  it  appears,  in  every  view  which  we  can  take  of 
it,  to  be  a  melancholy  dereliction  of  virtue  and  decency, 
equally  unprofitable,  shameful  and  sinful. 

Therefore,  christian  brethren !  Swear  not  at  all,  nei' 
ther  by  heaven,  nor  by  the  earth,  nor  by  any  otlier  oath; 
but  let  your  communication  be  yea,  yea,  nay  nay,  in  the 
simplest  forms  of  affirmation  and  denial; /or  whatso- 
ever is  more  than  these  cometh  of  evil     Amen! 


TO  A  GOOD  MAN, 

THE    DAT  OF  DEATH 

PREFERABLE  TO  THE  DAY  OF  HIS  BIRTH. 

Preached  at  tJie  funeral  of  a  pious  friend.     December 
I8th,  1803. 

And  the  day  of  death,  than  the  day  of  one's  birth.     Eccles.  VII.  1. 

The  maxims  of  wisdom,  to  the  men  of  the  world, 
often  wear  the  appearance  of  paradox;  for  they  res- 
pect enjoyments  for  which  the  worldly  mind  has  no 
relish;  or  bear  a  reference  to  a  state  of  being  of  which 
our  present  experience  furnishes  no  adequate  images. 
They  draw  the  piincipal  motives  of  action  from  an  in- 
visible world;  and  often  they  recommend  the  discipline 
of  affliction  and  sorrow  to  men  who  seek  to  spend  life 
only  in  a  continued  succession  of  varied  pleasure  and 
joy. — "  It  is  better/^  says  the  wisest  of  preachers,  "  to  go 
to  the  house  of  mourning,  than  to  the  house  of  feasting.'^ 
And,  not  less  strange  and  contrary  to  our  first  impres- 
sions, is  the  maxim  of  our  text,  that  the  day  of  death 
is  better  than  the  day  of  one^s  birth.  The  whole  pro- 
verb, to  which  he  appeals,  is,  a  good  name  is  better 
than  precious  ointment;  and  tJw  day  of  death,  than  the 
day  of  one's  birth.  Taking  these  two  maxims  together 
in  the  connexion  in  which  they  are  here  placed,  the 
sacred  writer  seems,  by  the  first,  to  intend,  not  merely, 
to  lay  down  a  general  proposition;  that  a  good  name  is 


142  Funeral  Sermon. 

to  be  preferred  to  the  richest  perf'ames — that  a  virtu- 
ous fame,  and  the  honest  reputation  of  piety,  are  more 
to  be  desired  than  all  the  ostentatious  displays,  and  vo- 
luptuous indulgences  of  luxury.  But  the  whole  has 
an  evident  allusion  to  the  elegance  and  magnificence  of 
eastern  funerals;  on  which  occasions  the  wealthy  em- 
balmed the  bodies  of  their  friends  with  the  most  costly 
spices,  and  washed  them  in  the  richest,  and  most  fra- 
grant oils.  The  import  of  this  proverb,  then,  may  be 
expressed  in  the  following  proposition;  that  the  reputa- 
tion of  piety  and  virtue,  which  the  excellent  of  the  earth 
carry  with  them  to  the  tomb,  is  infinitely  to  be  prefer- 
red to  all  the  costly  honours  which  can  be  paid  to  their 
remains.  Much  dearer  to  the  heart  is  the  tender  re- 
membrance of  departed  goodness,  than  the  ostentatious 
pomp  of  funerals,  or  the  invidious  magnificence  of 
tombs;  the  tears  which  embalm  the  memory  of  those 
who  have  rendered  themselves  beloved  by  their  virtues, 
than  the  perfumes  which  wealth,  or  vanity  profusely 
scatters  on  their  dust. 

But  the  proposition  which  immediately  follows:  bet- 
ter is  the  day  of  death  than  the  day  of  one's  birth,  bears, 
in  the  estimation  of  the  world,  much  more  the  air  of 
paradox.  What,  it  uiay  be  asked,  does  not  man  at  his 
birth,  open  his  eyes  on  the  sweet  light  of  life;  and  be- 
gin to  taste  the  charming  consciousness  of  existence? 
Does  he  not  enter  on  a  multiphed  and  varied  scene  of 
enjoyment,  both  sensible,  rational,  and  social.'^  Does 
not  death,  on  the  contrary,  present  to  the  imagination, 
ideas  the  most  formidable  to  human  nature? — It  is  un- 
doubtedly, an  awful  event  to  those  who  know  no  high- 


Funeral  Sermon.  143 

er  good  than  the  hidulgence  of  their  appetites,  than  the 
pursuit  of  their  passions,  and  the  gratification  of  their 
pleasures,  and  whose  troubled  and  boding  consciences 
cannot  look  through  the  shadows  of  the  grave,  with 
calm  and  pious  hope,  into  the  eternal  world  The  pro- 
position in  the  text,  therefore,  cannot  be  regarded  as 
an  universal  maxim.  It  is  applicable  to  those  alone, 
to  whom  faith  and  piety  have  prepared  in  heaven  a 
blessed  retreat  from  all  the  troubles,  and  sorrows  with 
which  sin  has  poisoned  our  residence  upon  earth,  and 
which  frequently  fall  with  peculiar  severity  upon  the 
lot  of  the  pious. — If  there  were  no  happier  condition 
of  being  reserved  for  virtue  beyond  this  life,  how  many 
of  the  most  estimable  of  mankind  might  pronounce 
that  the  evils  of  existence  have  far  overballanced  its 
enjoyments?  How  often  might  the  children  of  misfor- 
tune exclaim, — Why,  0  merciful  God,  Creator!  have 
we  been  brought  into  being  only  to  pass  our  transient 
moments  in  suffering,  and  then  drop  again  forever  into 
the  gulf  of  annihilation.''  We  begin  our  course  in  pain; 
and,  as  we  advance  in  the  road  of  fife,  we  measure  its 
stages  only  by  the  succession  of  our  griefs.  Continual- 
ly we  find  one  hope,  and  one  project  blasted  after  an- 
other. We  incessantly  renew  them  only  to  be  blasted 
again.  The  moments  of  happiness  which  now  and 
then  we  are  permitted  to  enjoy,  but  prepare  for  us,  by 
their  disappointment,  an  increase  of  sorrow. — Have 
you  united  your  heart  to  a  friend  who  is  worthy  of  your 
confidence.^  It  is,  perhaps,  only  to  suffer  in  his  suffer- 
ings, and  then,  in  the  bitterness  of  your  soul,  to  part 
with  him  forever.     Are  you  blest  in  the  smiles  and 


144  Funeral  Sermon. 

protection  of  an  affectionate  parent?  With  what  an^ 
guish  are  you  shortly  to  be  robbed  of  that  protection, 
and  to  see  those  smiles  extinguished  in  death!  Do  you 
find  the  enjoyment  of  yourself  doubled  in  the  caresses 
of  a  lovely  infant?  And  does  not  the  same  moment 
create  in  your  bosom  ten  thousand  anxious  apprehen- 
sions, for  its  safety,  its  virtue,  and  its  happiness?  With 
what  painful  solicitudes  do  you  follow  it  often  till  the 
close  of  life?  And,  at  the  length,  what  expressible  pangs 
are  prepared  for  your  heart,  whether  God  shall  call 
you  to  leave  it,  deprived  of  your  protection,  to  the  dis- 
tressing uncertainties  of  the  world,  or  to  follow  it  your- 
self to  the  dark  forgetfulness  of  the  tomb?  Have  you 
chosen  one  to  whom  you  have  imparted  your  soul,  who 
is  dearer  than  father,  mother,  friend  or  child;  who  mul- 
tiplies, by  partaking  all  your  joys,  by  reciprocating  all 
your  most  tender  sentiments;  and  is  still  more  endear- 
ed by  sharing  and  soothing  all  your  griefs?  Ah!  what 
distractions  await  your  final  separation!  What  discon- 
solate hours  remain  for  you,  when  the  tomb  has  swal- 
lowed up  your  richest  moral  treasure,  your  joy,  your 
hope! 

Review  the  pains,  the  diseases,  the  wants,  the  lan- 
guors, the  despondencies,  the  envies,  the  rivalships,  the 
animosities,  the  slanders,  the  injuries,  the  eternal  agi- 
tations with  which  life  is  filled,  and  say,  if  the  world 
considered  only,  in  itself,  and  separated  from  the  hope 
of  a  future,  and  better  existence,  would  be  a  desirable 
abode?— Who  would  be  wilhng  to  take  fife  again,  just 
on  the  same  terms  on  which  he  has  already  enjoyed  it, 
with  the  certainty  of  running  the  same  round  of  errors. 


Funeral  Sermon.  145 

t)f  follies,  and  disquietudes,  and  of  meeting  again  in  it 
the  same  chagrins,  sorrows  and  afflictions,  if  these  were 
to  terminate  all  its  hopes? — Life,  then,  derives  its  princi- 
pal value;  often,  indeed,  it  is  rendered  tolerable,  only 
from  the  hopes  which  religion  affords  the  believer  of 
a  blessed  immortality,  to  which  death  opens  the  ob- 
scure but  interesting  passage.  Here  we  discern  the 
true  or  the  supreme  reason,  of  the  preference  given  by 
the  sacred  writer,  of  the  day  of  death,  over  the  day  of 
one's  birth.  The  afflictions  of  the  world  render  that 
day  desirable  to  a  good  man  when  he  shall  forever  rest 
from  all  the  troubles  of  this  vain  life.  The  hope  of 
heaven  crowns  with  joy  that  moment  when  he  shall 
exchange  them  for  everlasting  peace  and  happiness. 

Let  us,  then,  in  this  view,  institute  a  brief  compari- 
son between  the  present  life,  and  the  future,  and  bliss- 
ful state  of  the  pious,  which  will  serve,  still  farther,  to 
illustrate  and  verify  the  maxim  in  the  text. 

At  our  birth,  we  enter  upon  existence;  but,  at  the 
same  time,  we  enter  upon  sorrow;  we  are  introduced, 
indeed,  to  many  sources  of  enjoyment,  but  they  are 
spoiled  by  our  imprudence,  and  our  passions.  We  have 
received,  from  our  Creator,  the  faculties  of  reason 
which  greatly  ennoble  us  above  all  the  other  inhabi- 
tants of  the  earth;  but  still  that  reason  is  limited,  and 
afflicted  by  innumerable  errors  and  doubts.  The  so- 
cial sympathies  which  unite  us  to  our  family,  our  friends, 
and  to  human  nature,  are  the  sources  of  many  exqui- 
site enjoyments,  but  they  are  the  sources  likewise  of 
the  most  poignant  afflictions. — But  life  is  finally  the 
theatre  of  sin  and  human  imperfection;  of  all  tliose 

VOL.  I.  u 


146  Funeral  Sermon. 

mok-al  evils  of  the  heart,  most  grievous  and  oppressive 
to  the  dehcate,  and  pious  conscience.  In  ail  these 
points,  to  a  sincere  christian,  the  day  of  death  has  an 
unspeakable  advantage  in  the  comparison,  over  that  of 
our  entrance  into  life. 

For  then  the  pains,  the  infirmities,  the  diseases,  and 
all  the  innumerable  evils  which  cursed  the  fall  of  man, 
which  poison  the  pleasures  of  existence,  and  often  ren- 
der insensibility  desirable,  are  buried,  with  these  re- 
mains of  corruption,  in  the  grave.  The  soul,  which 
now  paitakes  of  the  disorders  of  this  frail  body,  to 
which  it  is  so  closely  allied,  being  freed  from  the  mass 
of  infirmities  which  oppress  it,  shall  be  elevated  to  a 
state  in  which  it  will  flourish  in  perpetual  health  and 
vigour.  Its  powers  of  enjoyment,  its  capacities  of  hap- 
piness, its  active  energies,  will  be  inconceivably  en- 
larged. 

What  its  state  will  be  till  the  general  resurrection 
of  the  just,  we  have  few  lights  afforded  us  to  judge. 
Only,  it  will  not  yet  have  attained  the  consummation 
of  its  happiness.  That  interval,  nevertheless,  is  but  a 
moment.  Duration  is  not  measured  in  eternity  as  it 
is  among  men  on  earth.  One  day  is,  mith  the  Lord, 
as  a  thousand  years,  and  a  thousand  years  as  one  day. 
Before  Jehovah,  the  infinitude  of  space  is  as  a  single 
point,  the  infinitude  of  years  as  a  single  instant.  The 
grave  is  a  bed  in  which  we  lie  down  for  a  short  repose; 
but  the  mohient  of  sleep  touches  on  the  moment  of 
waking,  the  moment  of  dissolution  on  that  of  our  resus- 
citation, when  this  corniptible  shall  Iiave  put  on  incor- 
rujptioni  o,nd  this  mortal  shall  have  put  on  immortality. 


1 


Funeral  Sermon.  H7 

And  all  the  redeemed  shall  rise,  and  sing;  O  grave f 
wheie  is  thy  victory? 

2.  Havins;  spoken  of  the  multiplied  evils  of  life,  I 
must  beg  permission  to  add  that  its  calamities  are  aug- 
mented by  its  very  pleasures,  which  are  often  spoiled 
by  our  imprudence,  and  our  passions.  For  men  are 
prone  to  pursue  them  to  cloying,  when  they  always  end 
in  disgust.  They  set  an  undue  value  upon  them,  and 
then  are  rendered  unhappy  by  the  disappointments  cre- 
ated by  their  own  errors.  Pursuit  fatigues;  possession 
begets  indifference.  We  are  continually  flying  from 
flower  to  flower,  rifling  their  sweets;  and  then  dissa- 
tisfied because  they  have  faded.  We  endeavour,  by 
an  eternal  succession  of  objects,  to  perpetuate  enjoy- 
ments which  are  incessantly  escaping.  But  alas!  how 
often  is  imprudent  pleasure,  when  it  seems  to  be  sur- 
rounded only  by  light  gayeties,  void  of  care;  by  charm- 
ing dissipations;  by  the  delirium  of  joy,  treacherously 
digging  beneath  our  unsuspecting  feet,  the  most  terri- 
ble pit-falls!  I  would  not,  by  these  reflections,  be  un- 
derstood to  undervalue  the  blessings  of  divine  provi- 
dence. Every  creature  of  God  is  good:  but,  for  want 
of  wisdom,  of  moderation,  and  prudence,  in  the  enjoy- 
ment of  them,  they  are  often  converted  into  real  sour- 
ces of  misery. 

Such  is  the  condition  of  human  nature  in  the  pre- 
sent world.  What  the  state  of  the  soul  will  be,  when 
released  from  the  incumbrance  of  this  body  of  sin  and 
death,  has  been  marked  in  the  sacred  oracles,  with 
small  precision  to  our  indistinct  conceptions.  Only  the 
powers  of  enjoyment  of  the  glorified  mind,  become  vi- 


148  Funeral  Sermon. 

gorous,  and  susceptible,  of  a  sublime  felicity,  which 
far  transcends  the  impotent  capacity  of  language  to  ex- 
press, or  the  impotent  talents  of  imagination  to  con- 
ceive. Not  depending:  on  these  gross  material  senso- 
ries,  which  wear  themselves  out  by  their  own  action, 
and  exhaust  themselves  by  indulgence,  they  will  be 
able  to  bear  an  eternal  action  without  fatigue,  they  ac- 
quire strength  by  enjoyment;  every  new  pleasure  only 
imparts  the  augmented  and  undecaying  faculty  of  en- 
joying more.  The  pleasures  of  piety  and  virtue,  of  rea- 
son and  devout  affection  to  the  supreme  author,  and 
sum  of  universal  being,  which  reigns  in  heaven, 
have  this  quality,  that  they  never  can  cloy.  Pure,  and 
sublime,  they  are  always  serene.  Without  the  tumult, 
and  the  delirium  which  always  attend  the  high  plea- 
sures of  sense,  they  never  fatigue.  Every  enjoyment 
awakens  new  desires,  and  every  desire  gratified  aug- 
ments the  power  of  enjoyment.  As  the  rays  of  the  sun 
penetrate  and  illuminate  the  whole  substance  of  the 
diamond,  so  the  sun  of  righteousness,  the  source  of  su- 
preme felicity  to  the  holy  soul,  penetrates  with  immor- 
tal light  and  joy  all  its  essence.  It  is  full  of  God.  Oh! 
Infinite  mind!  Immaculate  fountain  of  happiness, 
whose  nature  is  love!  What  unknown  felicities  dwell 
in  thy  presence!  What  ineffable  joys  flow  along  with 
the  emanations  of  thy  glory,  to  the  spirits  of  the  re- 
deemed in  heaven! 

Is  then  the  grave,  my  Christian  friends,  the  only 
gate  to  these  celestial  habitations.^  And  is  it  not  want 
of  faith  in  the  promises,  and  the  glory  of  the  Redeem- 
er, unworthy  of  his  disciples,  that  can  allow  us  to  say 


Funeral  Sermon.  149 

that  the  day  of  death  is  not  greatly  to  be  preferred,  when 
we  judge  of  it  by  the  hghts  of  rehgion,  to  that  day  which 
only  ushers  us  into  this  region  of  imperfection  and  sin; 
of  so  many  false  pleasures  and  so  many  real  pains? 

3.  We  may  otherwise  veiify  the  maxim  of  the  sa- 
cred writer  on  the  grounds  of  our  intellectual  powers. 
They  afford  us,  without  doubt,  many  advantages  which 
elevate  human  nature  far  above  all  the  other  inhabi- 
tants of  the  earth.  Yet  is  the  sphere  of  their  operation, 
at  present,  confined  within  a  range  that  is  extremely 
limited.  They  can  penetrate  but  a  little  way  into  that 
dark  abyss  which  surrounds  us  on  every  side.  We  dis- 
cern, only  now  and  then,  some  taint  openings  into  the 
book  of  knowledge;  but  immediately  it  is  shut.  We 
perceive  some  feeble  rays  of  light  from  the  eternal 
world,  but  instantly,  they  are  extinguished,  leaving  us 
to  painful  conjecture,  and  to  anxious  doubt;  inflamed 
with  the  desire  of  knowing,  and  incessantly  mocked 
with  disappointment.  How  confined  is  our  knowledge 
of  ourselves,  of  our  Creator,  of  the  boundless  works  of 
nature,  of  our  present,  or  our  future  being!  Nature  is 
so  fine  in  her  elements,  so  complicated  in  her  structure, 
so  vast  in  her  extent,  that  the  few  discoveries  which 
we  are  capable  of  making,  serve  only  to  awaken  a  cu- 
riosity which  can  never  be  gratified.  The  soul,  the 
body,  their  mutual  actions  and  relations  contain  mys- 
teries which  the  wisest  men  have,  for  ages,  endeavour- 
ed to  resolve.  Reason  has  studied  to  know  what  God 
is;  piety  has  sought  to  approach  him;  but  clouds  and 
darkness  envelop  the  view.  Still  he  is  a  God  who 
hideth  himself  ixom  our  most  eager  inquiries,  who  with- 


150  Funeral  Sermon. 

draweth  himself  from  our  most  ardent  endeavour  to 
embrace  him.  And  when  we  attempt  to  penetrate  the 
mysteries  of  eternity,  on  them  rest  the  profound  sha- 
dows of  the  grave.  But,  when  the  soul  shall  have  laid 
aside  this  feeble  apparatus  of  sense,  which  some- 
times aids,  but  often  misleads  our  inquiries;  and  when 
we  shall  have  emerged  from  this  dark  and  narrow 
sphere,  from  its  painful  doubts,  its  imperfect  views,  its 
innumerable  errors,  into  the  glorious  lights  of  an  im- 
mortal day,  then  shall  ive  know,  in  the  language  of  the 
apostle,  even  as  also  we  are  known. 

The  cultivation  of  knowledge  is  among  the  noblest 
employments  of  the  reasonable  soul;  and,  an  eternal 
progression  in  its  development,  will  be,  in  heaven, 
among  the  sublimest  sources  of  its  felicity.  What  ex- 
alted faculties  shall  there  be  added  to  the  glorified  soul, 
what  divine  illumination  shall  shine  upon  it,  no  mortal 
language  can  depict  to  the  human  imagination.  An 
infinite  field  shall  be  laid  open  to  its  insatiable  thirst  of 
information;  a  field  so  boundless  that  although  the  mind 
should  comprehend  every  subject  to  which  it  applied 
its  thought  with  the  rapidity  of  intuition,  eternity  would 
not  be  sufficient  to  survey  them  all.  Say  then  you  who 
are  ambitious  of  knowledge,  w^ho  have  tasted  the  plea- 
sures of  that  small  portion  of  it  which  is  permitted  to 
man  upon  earth,  how  rich  and  glorious  are  the  pros- 
pects which  religion  opens  to  your  hopes,  in  the  career 
of  your  future  existence.^  They  add  the  highest  con- 
solations to  the  death  of  the  righteous.  For  \ihere  ive 
see  through  a  glass  darkly,  ive  shall  there  behold  face 


Funeral  Sermmi.  151 

to  face  the  glory  of  God,  and  the  splendors  of  the  uni- 
verse. 

4.  Suffer  me,  christians,  to  add  as  a  strong  corrobo- 
ration of  the  pious  and  happy  truth  which  1  am  iUus- 
trating,  that  the  social  sympathies  and  affections  of 
our  nature,  which,  on  earth  create  so  many  pains  as 
well  as  pleasures,  prepare  for  the  pious  soul  in  heaven, 
only  the  most  pure  and  elevated  enjoyments.  Sweet  is 
the  society  of  friends,  whose  souls  are  congenial,  whose 
sensibilities  are  at  once  warm  and  virtuous,  whose 
minds  are  enlightened,  who  mutually  share  each  others 
thoughts,  sentiments,  wishes,  and  their  whole  bosoms, 
without  suspicion,  misapprehension,  or  doubt.  But,  alas! 
the  imperfection  of  human  nature  vi^ill  never  permit 
them  to  be  completely  happy  in  this  preliminary  resi- 
dence. Their  intercourse  is  embarrassed  with  so  many 
cautions;  so  many  contrary  interests,  real  or  imagina- 
ry, divide  them,  as  leave  only  faint  ideas  of  what  might 
be  enjoyed  by  a  perfect  nature  not  more  exalted  than 
that  of  man.  If  such  is  the  case  of  even  the  purest 
and  noblest  unions  among  men,  what  alas!  is  the  ordi- 
nary intercourse  of  the  world .^  When  you  suffer  your 
view  to  fix  on  its  coldness,  its  selfishness,  its  jealousies, 
its  rivalships,  its  slanders,  its  envies,  the  collisions  of 
its  interfering  claims;  when  you  consider  the  imperti- 
nences in  which  conversation  is  wasted,  the  follies 
which  you  cannot  but  despise,  the  profaneness  which 
wounds  the  ears  of  piety,  the  indelicacies  which  offend 
against  virtuous  morals, — what  a  scene  of  vanity,  what 
a  bleak  and  chill  region  does  this  world  appear  to  a 
heart  warmed  with  the  sentiments  of  benevolence,  of 


152  Funeral  Sermon. 

friendship,  and  of  piety!  Are  you  not  ready  to  exclaim 
with  the  holy  prophet;  Oh!  that  I  had  in  the  wilderness, 
a  lodging  place  of  way-faring  men,  that  I  might  leave 
my  people  and  go  from  them;  for  they  are  all  an  assem- 
bly of  treacherous  men;  they  bend  their  tongues  like  their 
bows  for  lies.  Take  ye  heed  eveiij  one  of  his  neighbour^ 
and  trust  ye  not  in  any  brotlwr. 

Contemplate,  on  the  other  hand,  the  blessed  society 
of  spirits  made  perfect  in  Heaven,  of  the  general  as- 
sembly of  the  church  of  the  first  born,  of  beings  the 
most  wise,  the  most  pure,  the  most  benignant;  from 
which  is  excluded  all  jealousy  and  suspicion,  all  reserve 
and  distrust,  all  weakness  and  imperfection;  in  which 
all  the  intercourse  of  society  is  a  commerce  of  wisdom, 
of  affection,  of  fidelity;  where  heart  meets  heart,  and 
soul  mingles  with  soul,  in  all  the  ardor  of  love,  with 
all  the  frankness  of  truth.  No  language  can  exhibit, 
no  colours  of  imagination  paint  that  blissful  society, 
those  delightful  attractions  which  unite  pious  souls  in 
heaven.  The  happiness  of  heaven  is  perhaps  too  fre- 
quently represented  as  one  eternal  ecstasy;  one  unceas- 
ing and  rapturous  act  of  devotion.  The  devotions  of 
that  immortal  temple  will  undoubtedly  form  its  noblest 
exercise,  and  the  sublimest  source  of  its  joys.  But  eter- 
nal ecstasies  do  not  constitute  the  state  of  any  being. 
In  that  sublime  world,  as  in  the  present  state,  the  prin- 
cipal portion  of  active  duty,  and  the  most  numerous 
sources  of  actual  felicity  consist  in  that  social  inter- 
course which  is  perfected  by  the  acquisition  and 
communication  of  knowledge,  by  mutual  and  endear- 
ing acts  of  benevolence,  by  the  delightful  and  recipro- 


Funeral  Sermon.  153 

cal  effusions  of  love  between  all  holy  and  happy  spirits. 
Shall  we  not  even  hope  that  these  friends  will  again 
meet  and  recognize  their  friends  from  the  earth;  and 
that  those  happy  unions  which  have  been  formed  in 
time,  will  be  there  purified  from  all  alloy,  and  siiall  at- 
tain complete  perfection  in  the  regions  of  immortal 
love.  Oh!  most  blessed  society!  what  strong  posses- 
sion does  the  idea  take  of  the  heart!  How  blissful  to 
the  believing  and  regenerated  soul  will  be  that  day 
which  is  destined  to  introduce  him  to  its  full  fruition! 

5.  The  present  life  is,  in  the  next  place,  full  of  the 
most  afflicting  fluctuations.  Tossed  on  a  troubled  ocean, 
the  agitated  mind  enjoys  no  settled  calm.  Even  the 
apprehensions  of  death,  which  ought  to  be  regarded, 
by  a  good  man,  as  a  happy  release  from  all  its  evils, 
become,  by  the  despondency  of  his  faith,  the  sources 
often  of  his  deepest  anguish.  But  when  God  shall  have 
called  his  children  home  from  this  land  of  exile,  and 
distressful  change,  which  was  designed  only  as.^u^ce 
wherein  to  exercise  and  ripen  their  young  graces,  their 
happiness  is  then  fixed  beyond  the  power  of  accident, 
or  of  duration  itself  almost  omnipotent  in  its  force  to 
impair  or  change.  No  contingency  can  affect  it,  no 
tempest  can  shake  it,  no  enemy  can  annoy  it;  for  none 
shall  ever  be  able  to  pluck  them  out  oj  their  Father's 
hand. 

Christians!  compare  the  feeble  spark  of  life  which 
we  receive  at  our  birth,  the  pains  and  miseries  which 
are  ready  to  extinguish  it  almost  as  soon  as  it  is  lighted 
up,  the  storms  which  afflict  it,  the  anxieties  which  har- 
rass  it,  the  troubles  which  overwhelm  it,  till  it  is  at 

VOL.  I.  X 


154  Funeral  Sermon. 

length  quenched  in  the  tomb;  compare  these  with 
the  glories  to  which  the  redeemed  shall  be  raised  by 
Jesus  Christ,  with  the  eternal  and  immutable  beati- 
tude which  they  shall  enjoy  with  him;  and  what  be- 
liever will  not  ardently  confirm  the  sentence  of  the  holy 
preacher;  that,  better  is  the  day  of  death  than  the  day  of 
one's  birth:  for  to  a  good  man,  death  is  only  the  begin- 
ning of  an  everlasting  life. 

6.  Finally,  if  at  this  solemn  and  interesting  period, 
the  humble  christian  escapes  from  the  afflictions  of  the 
world,  and  the  innumerable  evils  to  which  man,  by  his 
fallen  nature  is  heir  through  sin,  it  is  still  a  higher  con- 
solation that  he  escapes  from  sin  itself  What  is  now 
the  subject  of  his  supreme  anxiety  and  grief?  Is  it  not 
the  unsubdued  remnant  of  sin  in  his  heart?  What  is 
the  object  of  his  most  assiduous  labours,  of  his  most 
earnest  conflicts  with  himself,  and  with  the  world?  Is 
it  not  to  repress,  and  finally  to  subdue  the  last  strug- 
gling efforts  of  sinful  passion?  What  are  the  most  fer- 
vent breathings  of  his  pious  soul?  Are  they  not  to  re- 
cover the  lost  innocence  and  perfection  of  his  nature? 
to  behold  the  glory  of  God?  to  be  transformed  into  the 
same  image  from  glory  to  glory  by  the  spirit  of  the  Lord? 
Never,  then,  shall  these  anxious  solicitudes  cease,  shall 
these  fervent  aspirations  be  completely  satisfied  till  the 
believer  has  laid  down  all  his  imperfections  in  the  dust 
of  death.  At  his  birth  he  brought  into  life  a  nature 
prone  to  sin,  as  well  as  subject  to  misery;  senses  which 
deceived  him,  appetites  which  misled  him,  passions 
which  tyrannized  over  him.  At  death  the  remains  of 
sin,  which  he  never  ceased  to  lament,  shall  be  finally 


Funeral  Sermon.  155 

expelled  from  their  strong  hold  in  the  heart.  The  pas- 
sions against  which  he  maintained  a  perpetual  conflict, 
shall  be  extinguished  in  the  grave.  The  seductions 
and  temptations  of  the  world,  which  so  often  misled 
him  from  his  duty,  which  so  often  harrassed  his  peace, 
which  so  often  made  him  falter  and  flag  in  his  heaven- 
ly course,  shall  be  annihilated  by  that  stroke  which 
severs  the  soul  from  the  body;  when  the  immortal  spi- 
rit, released  from  its  imprisonment,  and  bondage,  and 
breaking  all  those  hateful  ties  which  had  bound  it  to 
its  corruptions  enters,  at  length  into  the  immediate  pre- 
sence of  Almighty  God,  whom  it  loves,  whom  it  adores, 
and  impatiently  desires  to  resemble  in  all  the  holy  at- 
tributes of  his  nature.  Beholding,  in  the  resplendent 
light  of  heaven,  his  infinite  purity,  it  is  changed  into  the 
same  image.  Jehovah,  the  infinite  /  am,  penetrates 
all  its  essence;  it  is  commingled  with  the  supreme 
mind;  it  is  dissolved  in  his  infinite  love.  Behold  then 
the  happiness  of  the  pious  disciple  of  Christ  consum- 
mated, his  joy  forever  perfected.  And,  although  to  the 
eye  of  sense,  and  the  erring  affections  of  nature,  dis- 
tress and  misery  surround  the  bed  of  death;  and  where- 
as only  joys  and  congratulations  greet  our  entrance 
into  the  world,  yet  precious  in  the  sight  of  the  Lord, 
is  the  death  of  his  saints;  it  is  still  true,  when  religion 
sheds  its  light  on  the  darkness  of  the  grave,  as  well  as 
on  the  false  joys  of  the  world,  that,  more  blessed  to  the 
real  saint,  is  that  moment  which  introduces  him  to  his 
heavenly  rest,  than  that  which  first  opens  his  eyes  on 
this  scene  of  error  and  imperfection. 


\dt)  Funeral  Sermon, 

Often,  christians!  should  your  interest  and  your  com- 
fort lead  you  devoutly  to  contemplate  your  pious  hopes 
of  a  blessed  and  immortal  life  with  your  glorious  Re- 
deemer, that  the}  may  sustain  your  pious  fortitude  in 
all  the  afflictions  of  life,  that  they  may  purify  and  ele- 
vate your  heavenly  affections  and  raise  your  nature 
above  itself  When  we  review  all  the  topics  which 
justify  the  reflection  of  the  sacred  preacher,  it  would 
seem  surprising,  if  we  were  not  aware  of  the  imper- 
fection of  our  christian  graces,  and  with  how  little  vigor 
a  celestial  faith  flourishes  in  this  barren  soil,  that  a 
disciple  of  Christ,  should  ever  be  reluctant  to  meet 
that  glorious  change  which  is  to  transfer  him  from 
earth  to  heaven;  from  the  society  of  imperfect  men,  to 
the  glorious  assembly  of  perfect  spirits  in  heaven;  from 
this  region  of  darkness  to  the  immediate  vision  of  God. 
One  of  the  ancient  poets  with  much  good  sense  has 
said,  "the  Gods  conceal  from  mortals  how  happy  it  is 
to  die  that  they  may  be  willing  to  live."  The  Creator 
indeed,  in  order  to  attach  us  to  live  for  the  sake  of  its 
necessary  duties,  has  implanted  in  the  human  breast 
a  natural  dread  of  dissolution  which  can  be  overcome 
only  by  the  subhme  discoveries  of  faith,  and  the  strong 
aff(?ctions  of  religion.  And  it  is  to  the  reproach  of 
our  religion  if  we  have  not  so  lived  as  ardently  to  as- 
pire to  rest  where  our  Redeemer  is.  Yes,  christians! 
if  your  faith  is  able  to  open  to  your  view  the  land  of 
promise,  the  reward  and  termination  of  your  labors, 
as  Canaan  appeared  to  Moses  from  the  mountain  of 
Pisgah,  what  can  be  formidable  in  dying — in  ending  a 
painful  pilgrimage — in  escaping  from  a  desert  of  fa- 


Funeral  Sermon.  157 

mine,  and  perpetual  conflicts — in  passing  the  flood  of 
Jordan,  under  the  conduct  of  the  captain  of  your  sal- 
vation? Why  should  we  be  distressed  at  seeing  our 
pious  friends  pass  before  us  the  holy  stream  to  their 
eternal  rest?  or  why  should  we  be  afraid  to  follow  them? 
Let  the  apostle  be  our  example,  who  so  earnestly  desi- 
red to  depart  and  he  with  Christ.  Let  so  many  belie- 
vers be  our  examples  who  have  looked  on  death  not 
with  tranquillity  only,  but  with  triumph.  If  it  be  true 
then,  that  religion  alone  can  inspire  you  with  a  ration- 
al superiority  to  the  fears  of  death,  and  even  render 
that  formidable  event  a  supreme  blessings,  cultivate 
within  your  hearts  its  humble  graces,  and  its  celestial 
hopes.  Confirm  more  and  more  your  pious  confidence 
in  the  name,  the  promise,  and  the  righteousness  of  the 
Redeemer,  that,  in  that  moment  so  formidable  to  con- 
scious guilt,  so  trying  to  frail  humanity,  you  may  be 
able  to  join  with  the  apostle,  and  with  all  true  belie- 
vers in  this  holy  and  triumphant  song;  0  death!  where 
is  thy  sting!  0  grave!  where  is  thy  victory!  The  sting 
of  death  is  sin,  but  thanks  be  to  God  who  giveth  us  the 
victory  through  Christ  Jesus  our  Lord!     Amen! 


THE  RECOMPENSE 

OF  THE 

SAINTS  IN  HEAVEN. 

Rejoice  in  that  daj^,  for  behold,  your  reward  is  great  in  heaven. 
Luke  VI.  25, 

This  is  the  consolation  which  our  most  merciful 
Redeemer  offers  to  his  humble  disciples,  who,  for  the 
trial  and  purification  of  their  graces,  are  often  exposed 
to  severe  afflictions  in  the  present  world.     Instead  of 
sinking  under  the  actual  calamities  pf  life,  or  repining 
at  the  prosperity  of  others  who  advance  before  them  in 
the  road  of  wealth  and  honours;  the  precious  hopes  of 
religion,  when  they  take  full  possession  of  the  heart, 
are  sufficient  to  check  every  envious  disposition,  and 
subdue  every  impatient  anxiety,  and  may  even  furnish 
them  with  a  lawful  subject  of  exultation  and  triumph, 
in  circumstances  otherwise  fitted  to  produce  the  deep- 
est depression.     The  necessary  evils  of  the  present 
state,  how  severely  soever  they  may  press  upon  the  be- 
liever, can  be  only  of  short  duration,  and  shall  be  ex- 
changed, according  to  the  promise  of  the  Saviour,  for  a 
state  of  felicity  in  the  heavens,  where  the  ransomed  of 
the  Lord  shall  come  to  Mount  Zion,  with  songs,  and 
everlasting  joy ;  and  sorrow  and  sighing  shall  flee  aivay. 
Nay,  the  afflictions  which  oppress  him  in  this  mle  of 
tears,  often  prepare  for  him  a  richer  inheritance,  and 
a  more  glorious  crown  in  the  kingdom  of  his  heavenly 
Father. 


Recompense,  ^t.  158 

Our  blessed  Lord,  in  proposing  tliese  elevated  hopes 
to  his  suffering  followers,  enters  into  a  brief  comparison 
of  the  rewards  of  afflicted  piety,  with  the  ultimate  con- 
sequences of  the  most  successful  course  of  vice;  Wo 
to  you  rich!  for  you  have  received  your  consolation!  Wo 
to  you  who  are  full!  for  you  shall  hunger.  Wo  to  you 
who  laugh  now!  for  you  shall  mourn  and  weep.  Not 
that  poverty  on  the  one  hand,  or  wealth  on  the  other, 
that  adversity,  or  prosperity,  is  necessarily  connected 
with  the  virtues,  or  with  the  vices  of  individuals;  but 
while  the  gospel  offers  its  consolations  to  those  who 
may  be  oppressed  with  the  weight  of  their  afflictions, 
it  warns  the  great  and  those  who  live  in  pleasure,  that, 
if  all  their  hopes  are  bounded  by  the  enjoyments  of  the 
present  world,  most  miserable,  ultimately  will  be  found 
their  mistaken  choice. 

Let  us  enter  carefully  into  this  interesting  compari- 
son, and  examine,  with  devout  attention,  the  principles 
on  which  these  general  propositions  are  founded.  The 
rewards  of  the  world  are  mutable,  and  uncertain; — in 
their  best  estate,  they  are  of  small  value,  and,  in  a  lit- 
tle time,  they  vanish  forever  from  the  grasp  of  the  pos- 
sessor.— Opposed  to  these  imperfections  of  earthly 
things,  the  final  reward  of  piety  is  sure, — Behold!  saith 
the  Saviour,  indicating  its  certainty;  as  if  placed  by  faith 
within  the  immediate  view  of  the  soul — He  adds,  it  is 
great,  pointing  in  this  expression,  to  its  excellence  and 
perfection;  and  it  is  consummated,  in  the  last  place, 
by  being  laid  up  in  heaven,  the  blessed  residence  of 
pious  and  redeemed  souls,  a  name  indicative  of  a  happy 
and  everlasting  existence  to  express  its  eternity  «ind 


160  Recompense  of  the 

glory. — The  certainty,  therefore,  the  glory  and  eternity 
of  the  rewards  of  the  righteous  in  a  future  state,  will 
form  the  subject  of  our  pious  meditations  on  the  pre- 
sent occasion. 

Useful  it  is  frequently  to  raise  our  thoughts  to  the 
contemplation  of  heavenly  things;  that  our  affections  by 
being  elevated  above  this  world,  which  is  not  our  abid- 
ing place,  may  be  rendered  more  spiritual  and  pure; 
that  thence  we  may  draw  more  sublime  and  animating 
motives  to  a  holy  diligence  in  all  our  religious  duties; 
and  that,  from  the  most  blessed  hopes,  we  may  derive 
a  sovereign  consolation  under  the  manifold  afflictions 
of  this  mortal  state. 

1.  Accompany  me  then^  my  christian  friends,  in  my 
meditations;  first  on  the  certainty  of  this  recompense, 
which  places  the  believer  so  far  above  the  painful  vi- 
cissitudes, which  almost  ever  attend  the  most  prosper- 
ous career  of  earthly  fortune.— For  those  ivho  rejoice 
now,  shall  iveep  and  mourn. 

After  men  have  fatigued  themselves  in  the  pursuits 
of  gain,  or  of  ambition,  and,  perhaps,  exhausted  the 
powers  of  nature  in  incessant  labours,  for  the  accom- 
plishment of  their  ends,  how  often,  I  speak  not  here  of 
the  young  who  are  just  now  in  the  morning  of  their 
hopes,  but  of  those  who  have  made  a  full  trial  of  the 
world,  how  often  have  their  most  flattering  prospects 
been  disappointed!  What  mortifications,  chagrins,  re- 
verses have  continually  met  them!  When  they  have 
been  most  successful  in  their  pursuits,  do  they  ever  at- 
tain that  settled  calm  and  peace  of  mind,  without  which 
there  can  exist  no  true  felicity?    How  many,  on  the 


Saints  in  Heaven.  161 

contraiy,  do  we  behold,  who,  after  all  their  solicitudes 
expended  on  a  fortune  which  for  ever  escapes  thenij 
are  left  to  eat  the  bread  of  carefulness,  and  to  drink 
the  waters  of  the  deepest  sorrow!  The  world  has  over- 
whelmed them  with  misfortunes;  men  have  cast  out 
their  names  as  evil;  friends  have  deceived  their  confi- 
dence; or  if  a  few  have  remained  faithful,  pressed  to- 
gether by  a  similitude  of  suffering,  all  the  comfort  they 
can  yield  each  other  in  affliction,  is  only  an  unavailing 
sympathy  in  iheir  common  griefs. — Wo,  then  to  those, 
who  look  for  their  reward  from  the  world,  and  who  are 
only  tossed,  without  the  tranquil  and  refreshing  hopes 
of  rehgion,  upon  the  ocean  of  its  uncertainties!  But  our 
blessed  Saviour  pronounces  the  benediction  in  the  text 
upon  the  poor  and  afflicted  who  trust  in  him,  that  it 
may  be  their  consolation,  under  all  their  present  sor- 
rows,— your  reward  is  great  in  heaven.  On  what,  then, 
does  the  security  of  this  gracious  promise  rest?  On  the 
unshaken  foundation  of  the  truth  and  faithfulness  of  Al- 
mighty God.  You  behold  in  the  immutable  attributes 
of  the  Father  of  mercies,  an  unfailing  ground  of  oc  mf 
fort  to  the  sincere  believer,  under  the  severest  calami- 
ties which  can  oppress  his  lot.  Who  was  ever  press- 
ed under  a  heavier  load  of  sufferings  than  the  great 
apostle  of  the  gentiles.^  But  when  he  looked  forward 
to  the  blessed  recompense  of  the  saints  and  contem- 
plated the  security  of  his  inheritance  in  the  promise, 
and  its  completeness  in  the  glory  of  God,  he  shrunk 
not  from  poverty  or  repioach,  from  imprisonment,  or 
chains,  or  death.  All  his  afflictions  seemed  to  be  swal- 
lowed up  in  the  sure  and  certain  hope  of  the  glory  to 

VOL.  I.  Y 


3  GB  Recompense  of  tlie 

be  revealed.  For  I  know,  in  whom  I  had  trusted,  and 
am  persuaded,  that  he  is  able  to  keep  that  which  I  have 
committed  to  him  against  that  day.  Henceforth,  is  laid 
up  for  me  a  crown  of  righteousness  ivhich  tJie  Lord,  the 
righteous  judge  will  give  me  iii  that  day,  and  not  to  me 
only,  but  also  to  all  them  that  love  his  appearing.  To 
this  blessed  assurance,  this  holy  triumph,  every  belie- 
ver, however  obscure  his  rank  in  society,  or  afflicted 
his  lot  in  life,  is  entitled  by  the  favour  and  promise  of 
Almighty  God.  For  ivith  god  there  is  no  respect  of  per- 
sons. 

The  rewards  of  a  proud,  envious,  and  unjust  world 
are  always  uncertain.  But  if  it  were  less  unjust,  it 
may  not  be  acquainted  with  your  merits.  Your  obscu- 
rity may  have  concealed  them  from  its  view.  You  may 
have  wanted  opportunities  to  produce  them  into  light. 
Men  may  have  been  too  proud,  or  too  selfish  to  turn 
their  regards  upon  your  fortunes.  But  let  the  humble 
christian  be  assured  that  no  obscurity  can  conceal  him 
from  the  merciful  eye  of  his  heavenly  Father.  His 
eye  penetrates  the  deepest  shades  of  poverty  and  afflic- 
tion. He  beholds  the  virtues  and  graces  of  those  who 
are  unknown  to  the  world;  and  will  display  them,  at 
last,  before  the  universe  in  the  full  light  of  heaven. 
How  many  saints  are  now  in  those  abodes  of  blessed- 
ness, whose  modest  worth,  whose  heavenly  graces  were, 
while  on  earth,  hardly  known  to  their  nearest  friends! 
Nay,  God  who  searches  the  heart,  beholds  and  records 
against  the  day  of  recompense,  those  holy  intentions, 
those  pure  desires,  those  pious  breathings  which  raised 
from  the  bottom  of  the  soul^  can  be  discerned  only  by 


Saints  in  Heaven.  163 

his  omniscient  eye.  He  discerns  the  goed  that  you 
would  do,  if  the  means  were  not  wanting  to  give  it  ef- 
fect. So  that  there  is  not  a  pious  purpose,  a  benevo 
lent  wish,  a  devout  aspiration  formed  in  the  heart 
which  is  not  sure  of  its  reward.  The  meanest  servi- 
ces of  those  who  can  do  no  more,  raised  from  a  spirit 
of  unfeigned  charity, — the  two  mites  of  the  widow  cast 
into  the  pubhc  treasury, — a  cup  of  cold  water  given  to 
a  disciple  in  the  name  of  Christ,  shall  receive  from  his 
mercy,  at  last,  a  most  gracious  reward. 

But  the  security,  to  the  sincere  christian,  of  this 
blessed    promise    rests    not    only  on  the    inviolable 
truth  and  benignity  of  the  eternal,  but  on  the  founda- 
tion of  the  perfect  obedience,  and  all  sufficient  merit 
of"  the  glorious  Redeemer,  the  Lord  our  righteousness. 
The  grace  of  God,  by  giving  a  Saviour  to  the  world, 
and  accepting  his  atonement  for  the  sins  of  mankind, 
has  condescended  to  convert  the  promise  into  a  retri- 
bution of  justice.     It  is  now,  not  only  an  attribute  of 
his  mercy,  to  receive  the  penitent  to  its  protection  and 
grace,  it  is  just  also,  in  God  to  justify  the  sinner  who 
helievdh  in  Christ,  and  to  raise  him,  at  last,  from  the 
grave,  to  the  possession  of  eternal  life.     Behold,  Oh! 
humble  believer!  the  sure  foundation  of  your  hope; — 
the  truth  of  Jehovah,  and  the  all  availing  sacrifice  of 
our  redemption!     In  the  blood  of  the  son  of  God,  you 
behold  the  seal  of  that  (>tornal  covenant  which  is  the 
immutable  security  of  your  confidence  and  faith.     All 
the  mercy,  the  justice,  the  truth,  and  the  righteousness 
of  heaven  are  the  pledges  of  this  inheiitance  to  every 
liieliever  who  hath  united  himself  to  the  merits  of  Je- 


164  Recompense  of  the 

sus  Christ     Rejoice  then,  0  christian!  behold  your 
sure  reward! 

Thus  briefly  have  I  opened  to  your  view  its  certain- 
ty, in  opposition  to  the  instabiUt},  and  changes  of  the 
world.     Let  us,  in  the  next  place,  contemplate  its  ex- 
cellence and  glory, — great  is  your  reward. — The  men, 
without  doubt,  who  serve  this  world  only,  serve  a  hard, 
and  often  an  ungrateful  master.     It  repays  them  with 
little  that  is  worthy  the  anxieties,  and  the  labors  wasted 
upon  it;  and  still  less  that  is  able  to  satisfy  the  desires 
of  the  reasonable  soul.     Many  sorrows  attend  its  pur- 
suit; aud  when  attained,  as  far  as  mortals  can  possess 
it,  still  it  leaves  in  the  heart  a  most  painful  void.    And 
though  it  should  lavish  on  your  ambition,  or  your  ava- 
rice, its  highest  glories,  or  its  most  ample  treasures, 
to  something  still  the  soul  aspires,  infinitely  beyond 
these  mutable  and  perishable  possessions.     But  the 
portion  which  an  humble  believer  enjoys  in  God  his 
heavenly  Father,  so  far  overbalances  all  the  afflictions 
of  this  present  time,  that,  in  the  comparison,  they  are 
lost  and  forgotten,  or  felt  only  to  urge  him  into  a  clo- 
ser union  with  his  supreme  good.     And  when  he  rai- 
ses his  subli-me  views  to  his  future  inheritance,  it  is 
seen  to  be  commensurate  to  the  ever  growing  aspira- 
tions of  the  soul  in  the  eternal  progress  of  her  being. 
The  hope  of  the  reward  of  the  saints  in  heaven,  al- 
leviates the  painful  afflictions  which  are  the  necessary 
portion  of  the  best  and  most  upright  man  in  this  pro- 
bationary pilgrimage.     For,  in  the  language  of  the 
apostle,  we  count  that  the  sufferings  of  this  present 
time  are  not  worthy  to  be  compared  with  tJie  ghi^  that 


Saints  in  Heaven.  165 

aliall  be  revealed  in  us.  And,  to  an  humble  and  sin- 
cere faith  in  the  promises  of  the  gospel,  our  sufferings 
help  to  soften  their  own  pains,  by  weaning  the  heart 
from  the  vain  caresses  of  the  world,  and  urging  it  in- 
to a  nearer  and  more  intimate  union  with  God.  Thus 
are  our  light  afflictions,  which  are  but  for  a  moment, 
made  to  ivoi^k  out  for  us  a  far  more  exceeding  and  eter- 
nal weight  ofgl&ry.  Let  the  pious  sufferer,  then,  be 
consoled ;  for,  though  now  he  maij  go  forth  sowing  his 
seed  in  tears,  he  shall  return  bearing  his  sheaves,  and 
gathering,  in  the  end,  the  rich  and  blessed  fruits  of 
an  immortal  harvest. 

If  then,  the  hope,  and  the  distant  view  of  your  hea- 
venly inheritance  is  sufficient  to  sooth  and  relieve  the 
heaviest  calamities  of  life,  much  more  must  its  pos- 
session be  commensurate  to  the  utmost  desires  of  your 
heavenly  being.  Those  vast  desires,  which  the  world 
cannot  satisfy,  are  brought  to  perfect  rest  in  God;  their 
ardent  thirst  is  quenched,  if  I  may  speak  so,  in  those 
rivei^s  of  pleasure  which  Jloiv  at  God's  right  hand. 

The  immortal  powers  of  the  glorified  soul  can  never 
be  wearied,  or  cloyed  with  the  pure  delights  of  which 
God  is  the  source,  and  the  sum.  Shall  I  speak  of  the 
glories  of  that  heavenly  country,  the  paradise  of  God.'' 
shall  I  speak  of  the  general  assembly  of  perfect  spirits 
enshrined  in  bodies  which  shine  as  stars  in  the  king- 
dom of  their  father;  of  the  blessed  society  of  redeem- 
ed and  holy  souls  united  to  one  another  in  an  eternal 
love.-^  All  are  sources  of  a  joy,  at  present,  inconcei- 
vable by  mortals;  but  it  is  God  himself,  the  fountain 
of  life,  whose  nature  is  love,  and  whose  love  is  the  life 


1 0 (i  Recompense  of  the 

of  the  universe,  who  constitutes  the  supreme   feli- 
city of  the  heavenly  state.     The  happiness  of  a  pure 
spirit  is  to  mingle  with  the  infinite  and  eternal  mind, 
who  fills  and  occupies  all  its  powers.     God  is  the  sum, 
and  plenitude  of  its  joy. — 0  God!  most  worthy  to  be 
loved!  when  the  soul  is  full  of  thee,  what  can  it  desire 
besides.     The  royal  Psalmist  of  Israel,  in  the  ecstasy 
of  devout  meditation,  anticipating  the  future  glory  of 
the  saints,  exclaims,  I  shall  be  satisfied  when  J  awake 
with  thy  likeness/     Feeble  is  our  translation  often  to 
express  the  strength  and  beauty  of  the  original.     In 
a  short  paraphrase  let  me  endeavour  to  transfuse,  if 
possible,  the  force  of  this  expression  into  our  language. 
In  the  resurrection,  when  I  awake  from  the  sleep  of 
death,  I  shall  be  satiated  with  beholding  thy  glorious 
image.     Every  power  of  happiness  will  be  completely 
occupied;  every  vessel  will  be  full  and  running  over. 
This  divine  poet  then  proceeds,  they  shall  be  abun^ 
dantly  "  satisfied''  with  tJie  abundance  of  thy  house. 
Very  forcible  in  the  Vulgate  is  the  translation  of  this 
phrase,  they  shall  be  inebriated  with  enjoyment,  and 
the  delights  of  thy  presence,  thou  wilt  make  them  drink 
of  the  river  of  thy  pleasures;  for  with  thee  is  the  foun- 
tain of  life;  and  in  thy  light,  shall  they  see  light.     They 
shall  drink  immortal  life  and  happiness  from  those 
pure  and  refreshing  streams  which  spring  eternally 
beneath  thy  throne,  whose  is  the  fountain  of  life.    And 
in  thy  light,  shall  they  see  light.     Remark  this  stong 
and  singular  expression,  which  implies  that  the  light 
of  heaven,  that  ecstatic  light  which  fills  all  the  celestial 
regions  with  unutterable  joy,  is  only  the  emanation  of 


Saints  in  Heaven.  167 

the  glory  of  God.  But  of  these  heavenly  objects  it  has 
not  yet  entered  into  the  heart  of  man  to  conceive.  Yet, 
in  this  distant  and  obscure  region,  examples  are  not 
wanting,  which  exhibit  some  feeble  gleams  of  that  fe- 
licity which  the  saints  shall  enjoy  in  God,  when  freed 
from  the  cumbrous  veil  of  mortal  flesh,  they  shall  be- 
hold his  glory  in  open  vision.  How  many  blessed  mar- 
tyrs, when  only  a  ray  of  that  glory  has  entered  their 
souls,  have  been  able,  with  the  apostle,  to  rejoice  in 
chains,  and  in  death?  How  many  have  offered  them- 
selves as  pure  sacrifices  to  their  Redeemer  in  the  midst 
of  flames?  The  transports  of  their  minds  have  not 
only  rendered  them  insensible  to  suffering,  in  situations 
which  affect  us  with  horror  to  conceive,  but  elevated 
them  above  their  sufferings  in  holy  ecstasies. — But  not 
to  resort  to  these  high  and  rare  examples,  christians, 
have  you  not  the  evidence  within  yourselves?  Not- 
withstanding the  manifold  imperfections  of  which  you 
complain,  and  the  lukewarmness  of  this  age  of  the 
church,  have  you  not,  at  some  happy  moments,  been 
satiated  with  the  abundance  of  his  house?  In  the  de- 
lights of  a  pure  and  holy  devotion,  in  the  temples  of 
the  Most  High,  or  at  the  table  which  bears  the  pre- 
cious memorials  of  your  Saviour,  have  you  not,  while 
prostrate  in  spirit  before  the  throne  of  grace,  almost 
forgotten,  for  a  season,  both  the  follies  and  the  inte- 
rests of  the  world;  its  hopes,  its  fears,  and  its  plea- 
sures? Filled  with  the  sweetness  of  your  divine  con- 
solations, have  you  not  been  ready,  with  the  apostle, 
to  count  all  things  but  lossfiyr  tlie  excellency  oftJie  know- 
ledge of  Christ  Jesus  your  Lord?  or  to  exclaim  in  the 


1 68  Recompense  oftlw 

holy  raptures  of  the  king  of  Israel,  whom  have  I  in  hea- 
ven but  thee!  and  there  is  none  npon  the  earth  that  I 
desif^e  besides  thee!- — Christian!  if  such  are  the  refresh- 
ments with  which  you  meet  in  the  way,  what  will  be 
the  full  measure  of  your  joy  when  you  shall  have  ar- 
rived at  the  period  of  your  trials,  and  attained  the  con- 
summation of  your  reward?  If  your  exile  affords  such 
comforts,  what  will  be  your  joy;  a  joy  past  all  under- 
standing, when,  having  surmounted  the  dangers  and 
troubles  of  the  desert,  you  shall  have  gained,  at  last, 
that  promised  land  which  you  have  so  long  and  so  anx- 
iously sought? 

Vain,  and  abused  world!  which  dost  occupy  the  soul, 
to  the  exclusion  of  God!  what  are  thy  rewards,  the  gold 
of  thy  misers,  the  pleasures  of  thy  sensualists,  the  tri- 
umphs of  thy  conquerors,  compared  with  the  recom- 
pense of  the  most  humble  and  afflicted  disciples  of  Je- 
sus, even  in  this  earthly  pilgrimage;  above  all,  when 
they  shall  have  arrived  in  their  everlasting  habitations? 

I!I.  This  is  the  third  and  last  character  of  the  re- 
ward of  the  saints  which  I  proposed  to  illustrate — it 
is  immutable  and  everlasting.  Rejoice,  for  ^reat  is 
your  reivard  in  heaven;  in  heaven,  that  eternal  condi- 
tion of  happy  existence  in  which  the  saints  who  have 
been  redeemed  from  the  earth  shall  enjoy  a  sublime 
and  glorious  felicity  commensurate  with  its  endless  du- 
ration. 

Though  now  you  groan  under  the  burden  of  the  cor- 
ruptions, which  you  still  bear  about  with  you,  you  en- 
joy the  promise  of  the  eternal  spirit  of  truth,  that^  when 
you  have  put  off  this  body  of  death,  you  shall  be  cloth- 


Saints  in  Heaven.  169 

ed  upon  with  your  house  which  is  from  heaven,  and  be 
forever  ivith  the  Lord.  When  you  have  passed,  in  a 
diligent  course  of  faith  and  obedience,  the  storms  and 
tempests  of  Hfe,  you  shall  reach  a  peaceful  shore  where 
the  wicked  cease  from  troubling,  and  the  weary  are  at 
rest.  Remember  what  our  Saviour  hath  said,  those 
who  laugh  now  shall  mourn  and  weep;  intimating,  by 
this  image,  how  unstable  are  the  fortunes  of  this  world. 
And  how  often  do  we  behold  the  vain  children  of  pros- 
perity dashed  from  the  proud  eminence  on  which  they 
thought  they  stood  like  Gods?  But  if  they  escape  the 
ordinary  fluctuations  of  the  world,  how  soon  shall  death 
bury  all  their  prospects,  and  annihilate  all  their  pos- 
sessions in  the  grave -^  How  soon  shall  that  glorious 
edifice  of  their  fortune,  which  they  are  rearing  wiih  so 
much  pains,  that  pampered  tabernacle  of  their  bodies, 
which  they  nourish  with  so  much  care,  crumble  in  pie- 
ces, and  fall  in  ruins?  Where  then,  shall  be  found 
the  immortal  soul  if  it  has  no  portion  in  God?  But  in 
union  to  thee,  O  God!  eternal  in  thy  being!  fountain  of 
life!  sum  of  all  excellence  and  perfection!  consists  the 
consummation  of  our  happiness;  and  the  general  as- 
sembly of  the  redeemed,  united  in  one  body  to  Christ 
their  glorified  head,  shall,  along  with  him,  derive  tlieir 
supreme  felicity  from  the  everlasting  emanations  of  thy 
love! — Eternity  is  the  sublime  idea  which  crowns  the 
hopes  of  the  believer.  Interminable  existence,  cease- 
less progression  in  glory  and  perfection,  which  eye  hath 
not  seen,  iwr  ear  heard,  neither  hath  it  entered  hUo  the 
heart  of  man  to  conceive. 

VOL.  I.  z 


1 70  Recompense  of  the 

But  when  we  strive  to  expand  the  soul  to  these  vast 
ConceptionSj  we  are  absorbed  and  lost  in  a  boundless 
sea  of  thought!  Count  0  my  soul,  if  possible,  the  sands 
upon  the  shore  of  the  sea;  reckon  the  drops  in  the 
ocean — compute  the  rays  of  the  sun,  or  the  atoms  that 
compose  the  universe,  in  order  to  measure  the  ages  of 
happy  existence;  these  ages  shall  roll  away;  but  the 
pious  soul  shall  have  approached  no  nearer  to  a  ter- 
mination of  her  felicity  than  at  the  first  moment  when 
they  began  to  revolve. — Oh!  glorious,  mysterious  being! 
You  shall  live  with  God,  and  in  God,  and  partake  of 
his  immortality!  If  we  had  not  the  infallible  word  of 
Revelation  on  which  to  rest  our  hope;  if  religion  had 
only  kindly  deceived  us  for  our  pleasure,  I  would  say 
w^ith  the  great  Roman  philosopher,  may  I  never  be  wa- 
ked from  so  sweet  a  delusion!  But  our  blessed  Saviour 
has  not  merely  offered  these  transcendent  prospects  to 
our  faith,  but  in  a  manner  verified  them  to  our  senses, 
by  his  own  resurrection,  and  his  triumphant  ascen- 
sion to  his  original  glory  in  the  heavens;  where,  in  the 
progress  of  your  interminable  existence,  you  shall  see 
suns  and  systems  roll  away  beneath  your  feet,  repla- 
ced by  new  suns,  and  new  systems,  and  the  universe 
perishing  and  renovated  myriads  of  times,  while  seat- 
ed on  Mount  Zion,  and  near  the  throne  of  God,  you 
shall  contemplate  the  wonderful  revolutions  of  eter- 
nity. 

When  once  we  have  tasted  the  joys  of  existence, 
with  what  dread  we  contemplate  the  possibility  of  lo- 
sing its  pleasures.  With  what  earnestness  we  desire 
to  prolong  its  duration!    But  simple  existence  is  not 


Saints  in  Heaven.  171 

all  that  the  promise  of  the  new  covenant  holds  out  to 
the  hope  of  the  believer.  It  is  an  eternal  progression 
in  knowledge,  it  is  the  everlasting  exercise,  and  en- 
joyment of  that  heavenly  love  which  is  the  life  of  the 
soul. 

To  the  curious  thirst  of  knowledge,  the  boundless 
fields  of  the  universe  will  be  laid  open  to  the  excursive 
flights  of  pious  souls,  who,  with  the  celerity  of  light- 
ning, or  on  the  wings  of  the  wind,  will  pervade  the  im- 
mensity of  the  works  of  God;  according  to  the  beauti- 
ful image  of  the  Psalmist;  who  maketh  his  angels  ivtnds, 
and  his  ministers  aflame  of  fire*  at  the  same  time,  they 
will,  with  a  holy  rapture,  for  which  the  language  of 
mortals  furnishes  no  expressions,  the  ideas  of  mortals 
no  images,  mingle  their  being  with  that  Infinite  Mind 
whose  nature  and  essence  is  love.  They  will  breathe 
in  heaven  the  air  of  love;  and  be  united  in  the  most 
delightful  emanations,  and  reciprocations  of  an  eternal 
love,  with  an  innumerable  company  of  angels,  and 
with  the  general  assembly  of  the  first  born  wJiose  names 
are  written  in  heaven. 

Wherefore  my  beloved  brethren,  disciples  of  the  Lord 
Jesus  Christ,  seeing  you  look  for  such  things  what  man- 
ner of  persons  ought  you  to  be  in  all  holy  conversation  and 
godliness?  Show  that  you  are  seeking  a  better  coun- 
try, even  an  heavenly.  And  be  diligent  that,  at  his  com- 
ing, you  may  be  found  of  him  in  peace,  loithout  spot 
and  blameless.  For  only  the  pure  in  heart  shall  be  ad- 
mitted to  see  God.    Amen! 

*  I  am  aware  that  this  passage  will  well  bear  another  translation:  "  who 
maketh  winds  his  messengers,  and  flames  of  fire  his  servants." 


ON  SLANDER. 


Speak  not  evil  one  of  another  brethren. — James  iv.  2. 

The  great  duties  of  morality  and  religion,  being 
prescribed  by  the  clear  dictates  of  reason,  and  enforced 
by  the  powerful  sanctions  of  conscience,  are  not  often 
so  openly  and  palpably  transgressed,  as  those  lighter 
obligations  of  the  law  of  charity,  which  should  regu- 
late the  ordinary  intercourse  of  mankind  in  society. 
In  these  minor  duties,  the  heart  is  more  frequently  off 
its  guard;  their  importance  to  the  general  interests  of 
humanity,  is  seldom  duly  appreciated:  and  the  little 
passions,  which  so  often  intrude  into  our  social  circles, 
to  disturb  the  harmony  of  life,  are  apt  insensibly  to 
seduce  men,  beyond  those  delicate  boundaries  of  cha- 
rity, which  require  a  scrupulous  self-command  always 
nicely  to  obs  rve  them,  and  the  active  and  steady  in- 
fluence of  virtuous  principle,  always  to  respect  them. 

To  none  of  the  duties  of  morality  are  these  reflec- 
tions more  applicable,  than  to  that  prudent  government 
of  the  tongue  prescribed  in  the  text.  And  the  trans- 
gressions of  this  unruly  member,  are  wont  to  be  es- 
teemed of  so  light  a  nature,  that  the  habitual  inatten- 
tion of  mankind  to  preserve  a  proper  control  over  it, 
Contiibutes  greatly  to  multiply  its  unguarded  errors. 


On  Slander.  173 

The  mind  is  so  little  braced  to  a  just  and  virtuous  cau- 
tion on  this  subject,  that  the  tongue,  freed  from  tlie  salu- 
j  tary  restraints,  whicJi  prudence, as  well  as  religion  should 
[impose  upon  it,  is  prone,  through  mere  want  of  rcflec. 
i  tion,  to  infringe  those  amiable  ties  which  are  necessa- 
i  ry  to  bind  society  together.     But  there  are,  besides,  so 
.  many  causes  of  indifference  to  each   other's  feeliiigs 
t  in  the  intercourse  of  life;  so  many  points  of  rivaiship 
and  competition;  so  many  sources  of  envj,  j<  alousy, 
prejudice,  that,  perhaps,  men  more  frequently  inlringe 
I  them  through  some  secret  impulse   of  alienation  and 
resentment  hardly  perceived  by  themselves. — When 
I  we  reflect  on  the  numerous  occasions  which  prompt  to 
!  the  violation  of  this  anuable  law  of  benevolence,  per- 
petually recurring  in  the  commerce  of  mankind;  and 
i  when  we  further  reflect  on  the  constant  vigilance,  and 
j  self  command  required  to  impose  a  proper  restraint  on 
I  the  indiscretions  of  conversation,  we  have  the  highest 
reason  to  exclaim  with  the  apostle; — if  any  man  offend 
j  not  in  word,  the  san.  e  is  a  perfect  man,  and  able  also 
lo  bridle  the  whole  body.     Among  the  multiplied  offen- 
ces of  the  tongue  that,  perhaps,  is  the  most  common 
which  consists  in  speaking  evil  one  of  another. 

It  is  a  subject  of  just  lamentation  that  many  of  the 
disciples  of  the  mild  and  charitable  religion  of  our  bless- 
I  ed  Saviour,  while  they  profess  to  fix  their  view  almost 
;  exclusively  upon  ihe  transcendent  duties  and  doctiines 
I  of  the  gospel,  permit  themselves  to  overlook  the  hunsble, 
I  but  not  less  real  duties,  of  social  morality.  They  are 
I  at  little  pains  to  regulate  their  lempiT  and  their  pas- 
'■  sions,  or  to  subject  to  a  prudent  control  the  license  of 


174  On  Slander. 

the  tongue.  None  are  more  rigid  upon  certain  points 
of  doctrine;  none  more  negligent  in  cultivating  those 
mild  and  amiable  graces  by  which  we  approach  near- 
est to  the  meekness,  humility,  and  charity  of  Jesus 
Christ. — Ah!  mistaken  followers  of  your  Redeemer!  by 
no  vice  is  the  genuine  spirit  of  the  gospel  more 
tarnished,  or  the  temper  of  its  benevolent  morality 
more  reproachfully  impaired  than  by  evil  speaking  and 
slander.  Conversation  has  grown  from  this  cause,  to 
be  an  almost  perpetual  offence  against  the  genius  of  our 
holy  religion.  And  christians,  who  should  regard  one  an- 
other as  brethren,  or,  to  employ,  with  the  apostle,  the 
image  of  a  closer  union,  as  members  of  one  body  in 
Christ,  are  frequently  rent,  by  this  vice,  into  innumera- 
ble little  factions,  to  the  great  annoyance  of  our  social 
harmony. 

On  the  principle  of  speaking  no  evil,  however,  thus 
generally  expressed,  it  is  requisite  to  make  some  expla- 
nations. 

It  is  not  every  censure  passed  on  the  faults,  or  the 
vices  of  our  fellow  men  which  may  justly  be  brought 
under  the  reprehension  of  the  apostle.  There  are  oc- 
casions in  which  it  becomes  a  duty  to  speak  with  just 
severity  of  their  conduct;  as  in  the  case  of  parents  or 
of  guardians,  who  are  charged  with  the  moral  instruc- 
tion of  their  children,  or  their  pupils,  and  who  may  use- 
fully enforce  their  precepts  by  proposing  examples  of 
vice  to  their  censures; — the  officer  of  justice  may 
prosecute,  or  denounce  offenders  against  the  laws  of 
his  country;  a  friend  may  remonstrate  with  a  friend, 
and  hold  up,  with  the  most  benevolent  designs,  the  dan- 


On  Slander.  175 

i  ers  of  imprudent,  or  vicious  connexions  which  una- 
wares, his  friend  may  be  forming.     But  the  sin  which 
;  the  apostle  condemns,  consists  not  only  in  falsely  and 
I  malignantly   forming,  and  disseminating  histories   of 
scandal,  to  the  injury  of  our  neighbour's  reputation,  but 
in  unnecessarily,  thoughtlessly,  and  without  that  due 
j  consideration  of  his  honor  and  peace,  which  charity  re- 
:  quires,  giving  currency  to  the  tales   and  whispers  of 
scandal,  which  are  so  often  cruelly;  so  much  oftener, 
inconsiderately;  but   always   uncharitably,  circulated 
through  society. 

Slander  may  be  considered  under  three  aspects — 
i  As  it  is  malignant  and  propagated  with  the  previous 
knowledge,  or  belief  of  its  falsehood;  as  it  is  supposed 
to  be  justified  by  the  truth  of  its  facts;  and,  finally, 
as  it  consists  of  those  lighter  faults  and  stains  of 
reputation  which  unhappily  form  the  common  enter- 
tainment of  our  social  parties. — 1.  Malignant  slan- 
der has  indeed  i'ew  or  no  open  advocates.  It  is 
reprobated  by  the  world,  as  the  indication,  and  the 
foul  ebulhtion  of  a  heart  most  detestable  in  its  prin- 
ciples and  diabolical  in  its  aims.  And  hardly  is  any 
epithet  in  the  vocabulary  of  reproach,  more  oppro- 
brious than  that  of  vile  slanderer.  Yet,  shameful  as  it 
is,  and  exposed  to  just  abhorrence,  can  we  say  that  it 
is,  happily,  among  us,  a  rare  crime?  Seldom,  indeed, 
has  it  appeared  with  that  open  and  unblushing  effron- 
tery which,  a  few  years  ago,  it  assumed  in  the  public 
vehicles  of  intelligence  in  our  own  country.  Seldom 
has  it  possessed  such  an  open  field,  or  been  inflamed 
with  such  poisonous  virulence,  as  then  it  displayed  by 


176  On  Slander, 

the  competitions  and  passions  ot"  our  political  parties. 
And  have  we  not  accordingly  seen  this  vile  prostration 
both  of  truth  and  charity  deform  society  with  a  most 
pernicious  intiuence?  The  public  ear  was  shamefully 
polluted,  the  sacredness  of  character  profaned,  and  no 
victim  spared,  if  only  envy,  ambition,  or  wounded  vani- 
ty required  the  sacrifice.  Restrained  neither  by  decen- 
cy nor  by  truth,  its  principal  aini  was  to  beat  down  an 
enemy,  or  to  put  aside  a  rival;  to  inflict  a  wound  upon 
his  feelings  that  should  gratify  an  atrocious  vengeance; 
and  rob  him,  if  possible,  of  the  pubhc  esteem.  And, 
provided  the  end  were  accomplished,  it  sanctioned  the 
iniquity  of  the  means.  In  this  career,  if  the  calumnia- 
tor does  not  possess  sufficient  hardihood  to  invent 
his  dishonorable  tales,  he  is  prone  to  seize  with  avidi- 
ty on  those  which  Fame,  with  her  malignant  breath,  and 
thousand  tongues,  has  prepared  for  him;  which,  like 
some  magical  operator,  is  continually  raising  up  new 
scenes  in  soci:^ty.  These  he  colours,  distorts,  or  mag- 
nifies at  pleasure,  through  the  optic  glasses  of  envy  and 
passion. 

Another  form  of  this  vice,  if  not  so  atrocious,  yet 
certainly  not  less  unworthy,  ungenerous,  and  base,  con- 
sists in  those  dark,  designmg  calumnies  which  shun  the 
fair  and  open  light,  and  are  propagated  chiefly  by  hint 
and  insinuation.  Your  enemy  studies  to  preserve  him- 
self in  concealment;  and  hopes  to  wound  in  security, 
from  behind  his  cowardly  covert.  With  affected  scru- 
pulosity he  avoids  the  odious  imputation  of  direct  slan- 
der; but  every  thing  is  suggested  to  our  suspicions, 
which  have  been  previously  and  artfully  excited.    His 


On  Slander.  177 

narratives  are  so  framed  that  every  doubtful  incident 
shall  be  interpreted  in  its  worst  meaning,  every  sup- 
pressed circumstance  shall  be  more  than  supplied  by 
the  apprehensions  of  his  hearers,  and  awakened  imagi- 
nation shall  complete  a  history  which  he  affects  to  con- 
ceal.    Oh!  most  vile  assassination! 

II.  But  in  the  next  place,  we  often  perceive  this  viola- 
tion of  christian  charity  which  no  one  will  defend  under 
its  proper  title,  indulged  and  justified  under  the  pretext 
of  the  truth  of  the  calumnious  imputations. — Truth,  it  is 
said,  is  no  scandal. — This  maxim  of  the  passions  is  nei- 
ther just  in  itself,  nor  consistent  with  the  mild  spirit  of 
Christianity.     The  illiberal  temper  by  which  it  is  dicta- 
ted, betrays  itself  by  the  vengeful  tone  with  which  the 
spurious  maxim  is  pronounced.     Alas!  may  not  a  ma- 
lignant truth  recall  to  memory,  or  cruelly,  divulge  the 
lamented  errors  of  a  life,  in  other  respects,  most  wor- 
thy and  amiable;  and  the  more  interesting,  perhaps,  for 
that  softening  of  meekness  and  humility  which  repen- 
tance for  those  very  errors  has  shed  over  it.     Ah! 
christians!  who  are  we  that  we  should  rejudge  the  judg- 
ments of  God,  and  still  subject  to  the  protracted  tortures 
of  infamy,   the  lamented    evils   which   infinite  mercy 
hath   pardoned,   and   covered   with   the    Redeemer's 
blood. 

But,  without  entering  into  a  scrutiny  which  belongs 
only  to  God;  scandal,  which  piesents  to  the  public  view, 
nothing  but  the  blemishes  of  character,  never  exhibits 
it  with  fairness  and  truth.  The  observation  is  no 
less  true,  than  universal,  that  there  is  no  man  without 
his  faults:  but  it  is,  perhaps,  not  less  true,  that  there  is 

VOL.  I.  A   a 


178  On  Slander. 

hardly  any  mau  who  does  not  possess  many  virtues 
which  entitle  him  to  our  benevolent  and  charitable  con- 
sideration. But  the  unfriendly  pencil  of  slander  por- 
traying him  only  on  his  worst  side,  presents  to  us  a 
false  image  instead  of  that  mixed  character,  so  like  our 
own,  only  composed,  perhaps,  of  a  different  mixture  of 
virtues  and  vices,  which  should  claim  our  sympathy,  or 
obtain  our  indulgence.  On  a  ground  of  truth,  may  be 
laid  a  representation  which,  on  the  whole  is  false,  and 
calcu]ated  to  deceive.  The  colouring  is  deepened, 
and  all  the  lineaments,  are  distorted,  if  our  passions 
do  not  guide  the  hand,  in  finishing  the  portrait,  fancy 
adds  a  colouring  which  it  thinks  necessary  to  give  it  a 
higher  interest;  but  if  personal  injuries  have  inflamed 
the  temper,  resentment  colours  it  to  justify  its  ven- 
geance. 

How  often,  before  experience  has  corrected  the 
precipitancy  of  our  judgments,  may  we  have  received^ 
from  such  partial  representations,  the  most  unjust  pre- 
possessions against  the  most  estimable  of  mankind? 
Some  accidental  deviation  from  tlie  path  of  virtue, 
drawn  forth  by  circumstances  of  peculiar  temptation; 
some  misconception;  some  error  of  judgment;  some 
sudden  imprudence  of  passion;  some  foible  against 
which  the  weakness  of  human  nature  is  not,  at  all  times, 
sufficiently  on  its  guard,  may  have  furnished  to  slan- 
der that  single  trait  of  truth  on  which  the  calumny  is 
founded. 

But  if  you  accurately  examine  the  fact,  will  it  not 
frequently  be  discerned  to  be  no  other  than  one  of 
those  common  rumours,  of  which  no  one  can  ascertain 


On  Slander.  179 

the  origin?  And  small  acquaintance,  surely,  does  it 
require  with  human  society  to  understand  how  uncer- 
tain, and  often,  how  baseless  are  those  foolish  tales 
which  are  daily  circulated.  Prejudice  or  mistake  has 
given  them  birth;  malignity,  carelessness,  or  the  mere 
love  of  talking  has  propagated  them;  and  the  malicious 
curiosity  of  mankind  has  entertained  them  without  ex- 
amination. At  each  step  in  their  progress,  they  are 
magnified  by  some  new  exaggeration,  till,  at  length,  the 
original  fact  is  lost  in  an  accumulation  of  false  addi- 
tions. Ignorant  of  the  world  must  he  be  who  has  not 
observed  in  a  thousand  instances,  how  common  fame 
disguises,  and  distorts  every  little  incident  which  she 
touches.  He  who  disseminates  a  slanderous  tale  on 
this  ground  must  be  either  malevolent  or-  weak;  ma- 
levolent, who  estimates,  so  cheaply,  the  good  name  and 
tranquillity  of  mind  of  his  brother;  weak  and  credulous, 
^vho  can  still  trust  the  integrity  of  fame  after  all  his 
experience  of  her  idleness  and  falsehood. 

Permit  me  to  remark  further,  that  so  few  men  are 
capable  of  making  accurate  or  candid  observations  on 
the  conduct  of  others,  and  that  those  actions  from 
which  any  important  inferences  with  regard  to  charac- 
ter can  be  justly  drawn,  are  so  rarely  seen  in  a  fair 
light,  that  the  plea  of  actual  observation  is  often  an  ex- 
tremely equivocal  ground  of  censure.  Actions  can 
seldom  be  fairly  estimated  when  seen  single,  and  apart 
from  the  circumstances  with  which  they  are  connect- 
ed. Their  motives,  which  are  often  concealed;  the  si- 
tuation into  which  the  actor  may  be  accidently  thrown, 
various  principles  of  education;  ideas  and  habits  form- 


180  On  Slander. 

ed  in  different  circles  of  society,  create  a  wide  diversity 
in  the  judgment  which  men  are  prone  to  make  of  the 
same  action.  The  most  innocent  conduct,  measured  by 
our  prejudices  may  be  tainted  by  unmerited  reproach. 
What  security  have  we  for  candor,  or  for  truth  amidst 
the  collisions  of  opposing  interests,  amidst  the  conflicts 
of  contending  parties  in  government,  or  unfortunately, 
even  in  religion,  amidst  the  pride  of  ignorance,  the 
rivalships  of  different  inividuals,  or  classes  in  society, 
which  almost  always  exhibit  in  an  oblique  light  the  ac- 
tions and  the  language  of  those  who  differ  from  us  in 
party,  or  in  social  connections?  Do  not  the  most  serious 
umbrages  often  arise  from  mere  inadvertances?  And 
how  often  do  all  these  causes  concur  to  aggravate 
the  errors  of  our  unsuspecting  neighbours;  above  all,  to 
distort,  almost  unperceived  by  ourselves,  the  features 
which  we  draw  of  an  obnoxious  character? 

On  this  subject,  fellow  christians!  let  me  appeal  to 
your  own  experience.  What  injustice  have  not  you 
suffered  from  prejudice,  from  imperfect  observation, 
from  the  want  of  fair  and  candid  examination?  From 
actions  misconceived,  from  motives  misinterpreted  i'  In 
a  word,  from  the  folly  of  thoughtless,  or  the  envy  of 
malignant  tongues?  Ah!  disciples  of  our  blessed  Re- 
deemer! with  what  scrupulosity  and  caution  should 
you  ever  suffer  yourselves  to  entertain  injurious  im- 
pressions against  the  reputation  of  your  brethren? 
With  how  much  more  charitable  caution  should  you 
ever  be  induced  to  communicate  those  impressions  to 
others?  The  pretence  of  truth  can  seldom,  from  the 
very  constitution  of  human  nature,  and  human  society. 


On  Slander.  181 

be  received  as  a  legitimate  source  of  the  histories  of 
scandal  and  truth;  if  we  were  more  certain  of  attain- 
ing it  on  those  suspicious  subjects,  can  never,  unless 
where  imperious  duty  imposes  the  obHgation  of  reveal- 
ing it,  sweeten  the  mahgnity  of  the  fountain  from 
which  it  flows. — Charity  speaketh  no  evil;  Charity 
thinketh  no  evil. 

III.  I  proceed  to  consider  this  vice  in  its  inferior 
grades,  as  it  consists  in  exhibiting  the  hghter  faults  of 
character  tor  the  entertainment  of  our  friends,  or  our 
social  parties.  They  are  made  the  subject  of  uncha- 
ritable comment  from  various  motives:  Sometimes  as 
a  mere  supplement  to  the  barrenness  of  conversation; 
sometimes  only  to  give  vent  to  the  impulses  of  a  loqua- 
cious humour:  at  other  times,  to  indulge  a  vein  of  faceti- 
ousness  and  pleasantry;  to  amuse  a  frivolous  curiosity; 
to  gratify  some  private  pique,  or  avenge  some  imaginary 
injury;  or  finally,  to  please  those  whom  the  narrator 
may  conceive  he  has  an  interest  in  pleasing,  by  sacrifi- 
cing a  rival  to  his  vanity,  or  resentment. 

On  each  of  these  motives  I  solicit  your  attention  to  a 
few  reflections.  And  let  no  hearer  deem  the  subject 
unworthy  of  the  gravity  of  this  place,  or  the  sanctity  of 
the  devotions  of  the  sanctuary.  The  first  law  of  Christ, 
and  of  justice  is,  to  do  to  others  as  you  would  that  they 
should  do  to  you.  He  has  well  nigh  attained  the  per- 
fection of  christian  charity,  who  is  able  to  bridle  the 
indiscretions  of  the  tongue. 

The  first  cause  from  which  men  usually  have  re- 
course in  society,  to  this  unworthy  anecdote,  is  mere 
barrenness  of  thought.     Vulgar  minds  are  little  capa- 


182  On  Slander. 

ble  of  the  elegant  displays  of  wit,  or  the  agreeable  and 
instructive  discussion  of  the  usual  rational  and  useful 
topics  of  discourse.  The  laxness  of  our  morals,  and 
the  declension  of  devotional  fervor,  have  rendered  sen- 
timents of  piety  scarcely  adujissible  into  mixed  com- 
panies. And,  often,  there  is  too  little  of  benevolence, 
or  candor  in  these  circles,  to  take  pleasure  in  exhibit- 
ing, in  favourable  lights,  the  amiable  and  worthy  quah- 
ties  of  men  among  whom  the  competitions  of  self-love, 
or  the  jealousies  of  honor,  or  of  interest,  have  created 
many  more  points  of  rivalship,  and  perhaps,  of  secret 
alienation,  than  of  friendship  and  union.  In  this  case, 
the  blemishes  in  the  character  and  reputation  of  our  ac- 
quaintance present  the  easiest  sacrifice  to  the  general 
amusement,  or  malignity. 

II.  Not  uncommon  is  it  also  to  meet  with  those 
thoughtless  spirits  who  offend  against  this  rule  of  cha- 
rity merely  through  a  natural,  and  imprudent  loquacity. 
Governed  by  this  mischie\^us  impulse,  they  seldom  re- 
gulate their  discourse  with  judgment.  And  unhappily 
the  defect  of  judgment  is  rarely  the  only  frailty  united 
with  this  indiscreet  temperament.  Too  often  we  find 
a  pernicious  humour  of  prying  into  the  secret  affairs  of 
individuals,  and  of  families,  even  by  the  most  circuitous 
means,  and  from  the  most  corrupted  sources,  in  order 
to  furnish  out  the  unworthy  fund  of  their  inexhaustible 
volubility.  And  although  they  are  commonly  persons 
of  weak  and  frivolous  minds,  yet  are  they,  not  unfre- 
quently  malignant  also;  and  have  the  mischievous  pow- 
er of  rendering  more  deserving  characters  unhappy,  and 
sowing  the  seeds  of  discord  through  society.     Could 


On  Slander.  183 

they  be  charged  only  with  imprudence,  yet  are  the  er- 
rors of  indiscretion  often  not  less  culpable,  nor  less 
pernicious  in  their  consequences  than  the  designs  of 
malice. 

If  your  company  is  in  a  vein  of  pleasantry,  how  often 
does  the  common  cheerfulness  cruelly  seek  its  enter- 
tainment in  the  foibles,  or  perhaps,  grosser  delinquen- 
cies of  their  friends?  The  general  faults  of  manners 
would  be  the  legitimate  subjects  of  mirth  or  reprehen- 
sion;  but   to   be  agreeable   in   this   way   requires   a 
greater  fund  of  talents  and  of  observation  than  ordina- 
rily falls  to  the  share  of  common  and  mixed   socie- 
ty. Less  invention  and  ingenuity  are  requisite  to  seize 
on  the  blemishes  of  individuals.     It  is  easy  for  dullness 
to  collect  the  materials  of  vulgar  mirth,  and  direct  it 
against  the  greatest  talents,  or  the  greatest  virtues. 
Aristophanes  could  laugh  at  the  wisdom  of  Socrates, — 
Foote  could  turn  into  ridicule  the  piety  of  Whitefield. 
The  sons  of  profligacy  ha^  glorified  in  their  moments 
of  sportive  wantonness,  to  charge  the  virtuous  and  ami- 
able Addison  with  intemperance,  and  the  moralist  John- 
son with  occasional  debauch.     Slander  often  appears 
in  this  form,  in  which  the  thoughtless  gayety  of  the  com- 
pany makes  them  forget  that  they  are  immolating  hu- 
man victims,  in  a  detestable  sacrifice  to  their  own  vani- 
ty, or  endeavouring  to  erect  a  shelter  for  their  vices  un- 
der the  defects  of  superior  virtue. 

Suffer  me,  on  this  occasion,  strongly  to  appeal  to  the 
self-love  of  every  hearer.  Imagine  yourselves  the  sub- 
jects of  this  humiliating  pleasantly,  and,  by  the  keen- 
ness of  your  feelings,  judge  of  the  injury  you  may  be 

doing  to  the  sensibility  of  others.     In  the  view  of  chris- 


184  On  Slander. 

tianity,  indifference  to  their  happiness  is  a  sin  against 
the  genuine  principles  of  charity;  hghtly  to  trifle  with 
their  just  and  natural  claims  to  respect,  is  the  hardness 
of  selfishness;  to  be  sportive  with  their  failings  is  the 
triumph  of  malignity. 

In  this  view  let  us  contemplate  the  ordinary  strain 
of  those  social  parties  which  are  professedly  intended 
to  preserve  the  mutual  endearments  of  good  neighbour- 
hood, and  are  boasted  to  be  among  the  proofs  of  the 
refinement  of  our  manners. — What  are  they,  in  truth, 
but  perpetual  offences  against  this  benevolent  law  of 
our  Saviour,  and  against  the  genuine  spirit  of  huma- 
nity? On  this  humble  theatre  do  we  not  daily  see  cha- 
racter traduced,  acquaintances  depreciated,  friends  sa- 
crificed? Under  the  face  of  hilarity  and  good  humour, 
does  not  the  same  uncharitable,  cold,  and  treacherous 
spirit  lurk  in  every  bosom?  And  he  who  smiles  at 
your  story  in  this  company,  is  ready  to  smile  at  you  in 
the  next.  With  the  highest  appearances  of  union  and 
social  enjoyment,  each  is  secretly  divided  against  all. 

Here,  fikewise,  may  I  be  permitted  to  observe,  that 
that  portion  of  our  species  chiefly  formed  to  soften  and 
harmonize  human  society,  whose  glory  it  is  to  mitigate 
and  correct  the  ruder  passions  and  manners  of  men, 
and  to  educe  into  act  all  the  finer  feelings  of  the  soul, 
are  too  often  seen  to  lay  aside  the  gentle  characteristics 
of  their  nature.  It  would  seem,  indeed,  as  if  the  pecu- 
liar sensibility  of  their  hearts,  by  making  rivalships  more 
ardent,  and  multiplying  the  points  of  competition,  often 
added  keenness  to  their  satire,  bitterness  to  their  invec- 
tive, and  poignancy  to  their  ridicule. 


On  Slander.  185 

On  other  occasions,  this  odious  vice  appears  to  have 
little  in  view  besides  interesting  an  idle  curiosity.  To 
be  the  first  to  attract  attention  by  some  new  tale 
of  wonder,  or  of  scandal,  has,  to  a  large  portion  of 
mankind,  a  surprising  charm.  To  the  dishonor  of  hu- 
man nature,  obliquy  almost  always  finds  an  indulgent 
reception  in  society;  and  a  little  mind  is  pleased  with 
the  temporary  importance  which  the  malignant  curio- 
sity of  the  world  bestows  upon  it.  By  persons  of  this 
low  vanity,  blemishes  in  the  conduct  of  all  their  ac- 
quaintances are  eagerly  sought  after,  for  the  unworthy 
pleasure  of  displaying  them;  the  private  infelicities  of 
families  are  diligently  raked  out  in  order  to  be  exposed. 
Such  spirits,  and  such  there  are  in  almost  every  vici- 
nit^^may  be  regarded  as  the  evil  genii  of  human  society. 
They  multiply  the  causes  of  mutual  alienation  among 
brethren;  they  scatter  contagion  around  them;  and  pro- 
vided they  have  a  tale  to  amuse,  or  the  power  to  excite 
a  wanton  smile,  feel  little  compunction  at  the  cruel 
wounds  which  they  inflict. 

The  licentiousness  of  the  tongue,  however,  iff  more 
frequently  set  in  action  by  some  private  pique,  or  for 
the  purpose  of  avenging  some  real,  or  imagined  injury. 
The  infinite  colhsions  and  interfering  interests  of  so- 
ciety insensibly  create  innumerable  causes  of  mutual 
alienation.  Rising  reputation,  the  praise  of  talents  or 
of  beauty,  is  received  with  envy.  The  approbation  of 
friendship,  is  misinterpreted  by  ever  vigilant  jealousy, 
as  involving  some  indelicate  reflection  upon  those  who 
are  present,  and  is  seldom  admitted  without  being  qua- 

VOL.  I.  B   b 


186  On  Slander. 

lifted  by  exceptions,  or  counteracted  by  some  low  and 
base  insinuation. 

But,  the  most  violent  and  unchristian  animosities  are 
often  discerned  in  those  persons  whose  ardent  sensi- 
bilities, prone  to  sudden  and  precipitate  attachments, 
are  united  with  a  proportionable  defect  of  prudence 
and  judgment  in  forming  them.  Easily  wrapped  into 
fervent  and  visionary  friendships,  their  predilections 
are  as  easily  converted  into  the  bitterest  enmities. 
They  require  the  fervor  of  their  own  zeal  to  be  return- 
ed by  their  friends  with  equal  warmth;  and  such  sa- 
crifices are  continually  demanded  in  order  to  corres- 
pond with  their  romantic  notions  of  this  union  of  hearts, 
that  friendships  of  this  fine  texture  can  seldom  be  du- 
rable. But,  when  they  are  dissolved,  it  is  comnronly 
in  a  tempest  of  angry  passions.  For  these  fine  and 
elastic  spirits,  whose  benevolent  feelings  are  so  exqui- 
site as  hardly  to  be  within  the  range  of  human  nature, 
are  found  to  be  not  less  susceptible  of  the  paroxysms 
of  fury  than  of  kindness.  And  as  there  were  formerly 
no  bounds  to  their  admiration,  and  their  zeal  for  your 
service,  there  are  now  no  limits  to  their  indignant  re- 
taliation of  your  imagined  treachery.  Innumerable 
faults  are  recorded  with  every  exaggeration  which  dis- 
appointed love  or  friendship  can  create.  Sarcasm, 
satire,  reproach,  and  the  most  envenomed  detraction, 
are  employed  to  vilify  a  friend  converted  into  an  ene- 
my; and  all  companies  are  tired  with  the  histories  of 
their  wrongs. 

Finally,  the  lowest  and  most  unworthy  exercise  of 
the  spirit  of  detraction,  is  speaking  evil  of  others,  for 


On  Slander,  187 

the  sake  of  creeping  into  the  good  graces  of  those  who 
have  in  their  hands,  the  distribution  of  office,  emohi- 
ment,  or  honor. — To  substitute  art  and  cunning  for 
trutli  and  integrity, — to  trample  on  innocence,  in  order 
to  advance  any  sinister  interest  of  our  own,  are  sure 
indications  of  a  treacherous  spirit  which  you  can  bind 
by  no  principle,  which  you  can  hold  by  no  obligation. 
And  he  who  is  now  the  idol  to  whom  the  sacrifice  of 
character  is  made,  shall  himself  become  the  sacrifice, 
if  the  tide  of  interest  changes,  or  new  prospects  of  for- 
tune are  opened  to  the  insidious  flatterer. 

Thus,  my  christian  brethren,  have  I  exhibited  this 
sin,  so  pointedly  reprobated  by  the  holy  apostle,  in  a 
variety  of  interesting  lights,  traced  its  motives,  expo- 
sed its  false  and  unworthy  pretences, — and  presented 
it  to  your  view,  as  a  crime  against  both  justice  and 
charity,  equally  pernicious,  detestable,  and  vile. — 

Speak  not  evil  one  of  another,  brethren. 

Few  sins  are  more  lightly  chastised  by  the  con- 
science of  men  than  evil  speaking;  yet  few  are  follow- 
ed by  a  more  pernicious  influence  on  the  harmony  of  so- 
ciety; few  tend  more  effectually  to  extinguish  that  spi- 
rit of  mutual  benevolence  and  charity  which  is  the 
true  principle  of  the  happiness,  as  well  as  of  the  great 
duties  of  human  nature.  The  wounds  which  are  gi- 
ven and  received  by  thoughtless  and  envenomed  tongues 
form  a  large  portion  of  the  infelicities  of  human  life. 
In  vain  will  you  excuse  its  lightest  indiscretions,  as 
being  the  effects  of  levity  and  inconsideration;  or  as  a 
harmless  endeavour  to  raise  an  innocent  amusement 
out  of  the  venial  failings  of  your  acquaintance.     Could 


188  On  Slander. 

you,  in  the  same  manner,  sport  with  the  character  of  a 
parent,  a  brother,  a  sister,  a  friend?  But  the  law  of 
charity  is,  Thou  shalt  love  thy  neighbour  as  thyself . 

Consider,  I  pray  you,  my  fellow  christians,  the  un- 
happy, and  often  irreparable  consequences  which  re- 
sult from  this  vice  to  the  peace  and  comfort  of  society; 
and  frequently,  to  individual  honor  and  reputation,  the 
most  valued  possession  to  a  delicate  and  virtuous  mind. 
When  a  slander  is  once  committed  to  the  world,  who 
can  answer  for  the  extension  it  will  receive,  or  the  in- 
jury of  which  it  may  be  productive?  Every  repetition 
adds  somewhat  to  the  original  tale,  till,  at  length,  com- 
mon fame  raises  into  an  enormity  which  deserves  the 
execration  of  mankind,  a  small  and  venial  failing, 
which  merits  their  indulgence,  or  compassion.  Per- 
haps, without  a  failing,  the  malice,  or  the  indiscretion 
of  one  unfriendly  or  inconsiderate  tongue  may  have 
alarmed  all  imaginations,  may  have  infused  distrust 
into  all  hearts,  and  filled  a  country  with  the  wrecks  of 
a  ruined  reputation. 

It  boots  you  not  that  you  possess  the  most  mild  and 
inoffensive  temper,  or  that  your  hfe  is  adorned  by  the 
most  conspicuous  virtues.  The  iniquity  of  slander 
will  take  advantage  of  the  unresisting  meekness  of  the 
one,  or  is  provoked  by  the  pre-eminent  merits  of  the 
other.  In  vain  you  attempt  to  retrieve  the  purity  of 
your  name,  by  proving  the  falsehood  of  its  imputations. 
You  may  prove  them  false;  still  your  reputation  shall 
be  tarnished,  and  your  innocence  have  received  an  in- 
delible stain.  Do  you  expect  reparation  from  the  re- 
pentance of  the  slanderer?     The  injury  he  has  done 


On  Slander.  189 

you  has  made  him  your  enemy.  But  though  he  should 
repent,  the  evil  is  no  longer  in  his  power.  The  slan- 
der is  gone  from  him.  It  is  in  possession  of  others. 
And  each  new  reporter  circulates  it  from  a  different 
center,  till  it  fills  at  length  a  diffusive  sphere  to  which 
we  can  hardly  assign  any  limits.  Alas!  what  jealou- 
sies, what  distrusts,  what  mutual  alienations,  what  poig- 
nant miseries  often  spring  from  this  guilty  source! 
Christians!  whose  spirit  is  charity;  whose  symbol  is 
concord;  and  whose  motto,  Hke  that  of  the  primitive  be- 
lievers, should  be  union  and  love!  never  may  this 
shameful  dereliction  of  the  spirit  of  Christ  dishonor 
your  holy  profession!  Learn  to  govern  this  unruly 
evil.  Regard  the  character  of  your  brother  as  a  sa- 
cred treasure  which  ought  to  be  approached  with  re- 
verence,— as  the  most  dehcate  of  all  possessions,  liable 
to  be  tarnished  with  the  lightest  breath.  Endeavour 
to  change  such  unprofitable,  and  unhallowed  conversa- 
tions, where  you  are  unhappily  exposed  to  them,  into 
a  wiser  channel.  But  if  the  indiscretion  of  uncharita- 
ble tongues  must  prevail,  learn  to  be  silent.  Silence 
is  the  school  of  prudence.  It  preserves  the  tranquilli- 
ty of  the  mind;  and  still  keeps  the  heart  open  to  the 
influence  of  amiable  and  good  affections.  But  the 
tongue  is  an  unruly  evil,  full  of  deadly  poison;  it  is  a 
world  of  iniquity;  it  dejileth  the  whole  body,  and  setteth 
on  fire  the  course  of  nature,  and  it  is  set  on  fire  of  hell. 

Permit  me,  christians,  in  the  last  place,  to  remark 
that  the  most  effectual  correction  of  this  unhap- 
py propensity  of  our  fallen  nature  is,  along  with  the 
love  of  God  our  heavenly  Father,  and  wath  charity  to 


190  On  Slander. 

mankind  who  are  his  offspring,  to  cuUivate  the  spirit 
of  genuine  humihty.  If  men  will  humbly  and  peni- 
tently reflect  on  their  innumerable  offences  against  Al- 
mighty God,  it  will  restrain  that  self-sufficiency  and 
pride,  which  is  prone  to  comment  severely  on  the  er- 
rors of  our  fellow  christians,  and  extinguish  that  un- 
charitable spirit  which  is  ever  ready  to  blazon  them  to 
their  injury.  Carry  forward  your  view  to  the  supreme 
tribunal  of  heaven;  it  will  prostrate  in  the  dust,  that 
presumptuous  arrogance  which  dares  to  judge  our  fel- 
low sinners.  Humility,  like  charity,  in  the  bosom  of 
a  christian,  speaketh  no  evil,  thinketh  no  evil. 

Almighty  God!  so  influence  our  minds,  at  all  times, 
that  restraining  the  evils  of  a  thoughtless  or  uncharita- 
ble tongue,  our  words  may  always  be  seasoned  with 
grace/    Amen! 


ON  REDEEMING  TIME. 


Redeeming  the  time — Ephesians,  5.  16. 

My  Christian  brethren!  we  have  before  us  in  the  pre- 
sent Hfe,  a  duty  to  perform,  and  an  interest  to  secure, 
of  the  highest  moment  to  every  heir  of  immortahty. 
The  cares  of  our  future  and  eternal  existence  are  con- 
tinually pressing  for  our  most  earnest  attention,  while 
the  means  and  opportunities  of  successfully  fulfilling 
these  interesting  duties,  are  rapidly  escaping  from  our 
possession,  and  soon  will  be  forever  past.  These  truths, 
important  at  all  times,  were  addressed  at  that  period 
with  pecuhar  force  to  the  Ephesian  converts,  from  the 
affecting  circumstances  in  which  the  christians  were 
placed.  Persecution,  in  its  most  cruel  forms,  continu- 
ally menaced  them.  Encompassed  with  chains,  and 
with  funeral  piles,  they  were  obliged  to  be  always 
ready  to  prove  the  sincerity  of  their  holy  profession, 
and  to  seal  their  faithful  testimony  with  their  blood. 
In  the  midst  of  these  perils  it  was,  that  this  illustrious 
apostle  exhorted  his  beloved  children  in  the  faith,  to  be 
ever  prepared  to  meet  the  dangers,  and  the  deaths 
which  environed  them;  and  to  use,  to  the  best  advan- 
tage, for  this  purpose,  the  precious  moments  still  indul- 
ged to  them  by  the  goodness  of  God. 


192  On  Redeeming  Time. 

He  employs  on  the  subject,  a  strong  and  unusual 
figure,  rede€m,i7ig  the  time,  as  if  by  extraordinary  assidu- 
ity in  the  discharge  of  every  duty,  and  a  wise  appro- 
priation of  our  whole  time,  we  might  purchase  back 
the  seasons  which  have  been  misapplied  and  lost;  or 
gain  additional  leisure  from  our  other  necessary  occu- 
pations to  bestow,  on  the  cares  of  our  salvation,  and 
the  interests  of  eternity. 

Although  the  external  circumstances  of  the  church 
are,  at  present,  more  prosperous  and  happy,  and  the 
fires  of  persecution  are  no  longer  kindled  among  us; 
yet,  as  human  life  is  at  all  times  uncertain,  surrounded 
with  thousands  of  seen,  and  tens  of  thousands  of  unseen 
dangers,  the  exhortation  of  the  apostle,  to  redeem  the 
time  may,  with  no  less  propriety  and  earnestness  be 
addressed  to  us,  than  to  the  persecuted  saints  of  Ephe- 
sus.  Perhaps,  to  us,  it  speaks  with  a  louder  voice  than 
to  them.  Their  imminent  dangers  imposed  upon  them 
the  necessity  of  continual  vigilance,  and  was  calcula- 
ted to  awaken  the  most  active  zeal  in  every  duty;  while 
the  lukewarmness  and  security  of  our  age,  lulling  our 
watchfulness  to  sleep,  and  weakening  all  the  pious  en- 
ergies of  the  soul,  require  its  admonitions  to  be  more 
frequently  sounded  in  our  ears,  and  more  earnestly 
pressed  upon  our  thoughts.  It  requires  not  less  firm  and 
established  principles  of  grace,  nor  less  fervour  of  pious 
zeal,  to  resist  the  temptations  of  prosperity,  and  the  se- 
ductions of  pleasure,  than  to  encounter  the  terrors  of 
chains,  of  imprisonment,  and  of  death. 

Let  me  request  your  most  serious  attention,  then, 
my  Christian  brethren,  while  I  endeavour, 


On  Redeeming  Time.  193 

I.  First,  to  explain,  and  afterwards  to  enforce  the 
duty  enjoined  in  this  precept,  by  rhe  holy  apostle. — 

I.  In  its  primary  view,  it  implies  the  faithful  employ- 
ment of  the  whole  of  life  in  diligently  fulfilhng  all  its 
duties,  and  pursuing  the  great  end  of  hving,  the  sal- 
vation of  the  soul.  By  a  wise  disposition,  and  prudent 
application  of  our  time,  we  may  greatly  multiply  the 
useful  moments  of  hfe,  and  compensate  for  many  past 
neglects  and  wasted  opportunities  of  promoting  our 
own  improvement,  or  essentially  serving  the  interests 
of  our  fellow  christians.  And  christians!  when  we 
recollect  what  a  holy  culture  is  requisite  to  prepare  the 
soul  for  the  mansions  of  perfection  and  happiness  in 
the  heavens;  and  what  a  solemn  account  is  to  be  ren- 
dered of  all  the  actions  of  life;  when  we  remember,  fur- 
ther, that  all  our  acts,  that  all  our  words,  that  every 
emotion  which  rises  in  our  breasts,  every  affection  or 
impulse  which  we  cherish  in  our  hearts,  is  impressing 
some  colour  on  our  eternal  destiny;  and  finally,  that 
the  fehcity  of  the  saints  in  the  everlasting  progress  of 
their  being,  shall  bear  some  proportion  to  the  good 
which  they  have  done  in  life,  with  what  persevering 
activity  and  zeal  ought  every  duty  to  be  performed,  and 
every  moment  be  put  to  profit.^  One  of  ihe  principal 
means  of  fulfilling  this  duty,  is  the  happy  and  pious 
talent  of  making  all  our  ordinary  engagements  in  the 
world,  all  our  necessary  employments,  and  even  all  our 
lawful  amusements,  minister  to  the  views  of  religion. 

Some  austere  and  gloomy  men  have  vainly  imagined, 
that,  in  order  to  exercise  themselves  unto  godliness,  it  is 
requisite  to  retire  from  the  world,  and  bury  themselves 

VOL.  I.  e  c 


194  On  Redeeming  Time. 

in  profound  solitude,  where  they  may  be  continually 
occupied  in  a  melancholy  devotion — This  is  mistaking 
the  spirit  of  the  gospel.  It  is  in  the  world,  amidst  its 
trials,  its  conflicts,  its  labours  that  our  duties  he.  For 
society  we  were  formed  by  our  own  benevolent  Creator, 
And  the  first  law  of  our  being,  next  to  that  supreme 
devotion  which  should  terminate  immediately  on  God 
our  heavenly  Father,  is  to  glorify  him  by  diffusing  hap- 
piness through  the  great  family  of  his  children.  Gen- 
uine and  rational  piety  confers  on  a  good  man  the  di- 
vine art  of  living  continually  for  heaven,  and  making 
all  his  occupations  in  life  subservient  to  the  primary 
end  of  his  existence.  He  enters  upon  them  in  obedience 
to  the  will  of  God,  he  discharges  them,  as  being 
always  under  the  immediate  inspection  of  God — In 
them  all  he  remembers  the  reference  which  they  bear 
to  the  final  judgment  of  God — the  idea  of  God  mingles 
with  all,  and  sanctifies  all. 

11.  We  are  here  presented  with  the  most  general 
view  of  this  important  and  comprehensive  duty.  De- 
scending into  its  details,  it  implies,  in  the  first  place,  a 
more  than  usually  earnest  and  diligent  improvement 
of  certain  seasons  in  life,  or  opportunities  occurring 
in  the  order  of  divine  Providence  over  the  churches, 
which  are  found  to  be  most  favourable  to  the  culti- 
vation of  the  principles  of  religion  in  the  heart. 

It  has  often  been  remarked  that,  in  the  pursuits  of 
life,  there  is,  to  every  man,  a  tide  in  his  affairs,  which, 
if  wisely  observed   and  improved,  will  usually  lead  to 
a  successful  issue;  but  if  the  golden  opportunity  be 
lost,  seldom,  or  never  can  it  be  effectually  regained. 


Oil  Redeeming  Time.  195 

The  analogy  exists,  not  les:,  in  our  spiritual  con- 
cerns, than  in  those  of  a  temporal  nature — in  seeking 
the  salvation  of  the  soul,  than  in  pursuing  the  fortunes 
of  the  world.  There  are  seasons,  in  the  arrangenjents 
of  divine  Providence,  which  are  pecuHarly  calculated 
to  assist  our  improvement  in  divine  knowledge,  and  in 
all  the  devotional  exercises  of  the  heart.  They  are 
commonly  as  transient  as  they  are  inestimable;  and; 
when  once  they  have  passed  away,  they  never  return, 
or  never,  with  the  same  favourable  circumstances. 

Of  these  seasons,  the  most  auspicious  to  religion,  is 
youth.  It  yields  the  heart  more  tender  and  suscepti- 
ble to  the  persuasions  of  the  gospel.  Its  softness,  not 
yet  hardened  in  a  course  of  vice,  is  more  easily  cast 
into  the  mould  of  virtue.  The  arts  and  interests  of  the 
world  have  not  yet  depraved  its  ingenuousness,  and 
rendered  it  indocile.  This  lovely  period  our  heavenly 
Father  regards  with  peculiar  complacency;  and  he  lis- 
tens to  the  first  lispings  of  a  child,  who  begins  to  seek  his 
favour.  Or,  to  change  the  figure,  according  to  the  beau- 
tiful imagery  of  the  parable  in  the  Gospel,  he  meets, 
with  affectionate  warmth,  the  return  of  the  young  pro- 
digal, who,  sensible  of  his  errors,  desires  again  to  find 
a  refuge  in  the  compassions  and  forgiveness  of  a  Fa- 
ther. But  after  the  susceptibility,  and  openness  to  in- 
struction of  this  age  is  passed  away,  the  Holy  Spirit 
speaks  to  the  heart  less  frequently,  and,  when  he  does 
speak,  his  still,  small  voice  is  more  easily  drowned  in 
the  clamours,  and  the  cares  of  the  world. 

Youth  is  the  spring  of  our  being,  tlie  precious  seed 
time  of  eternity,  which,  under  a  wise  and  faithful  cultiva- 


196  On  Redeeming  Time. 

tion,  promises  the  blessed  fruits  of  an  immortal  harvest. 
In  this  vernal  and  genial  season,  if  I  may  be  allowed  to 
pursue  the  image,  how^  much  more  may  be  done  for 
the  improvement  of  the  soul,  and  the  growth  of  its  hea- 
venly graces,  than  during  the  ardors  of  summer,  when 
the  passions  burn  in  all  their  fury — than  during  the  busy 
cares  of  autumn,  when  interest  only  occupies  the  heart 
— than  during  the  frozen  winter  of  age,  when  the  affec- 
tions are  all  locked  up,  and  the  powers  of  nature  are 
all  in  decay? — To  descend  from  this  strain  of  figure, 
youth  is  the  season  of  improvement;  the  happy  period 
most  favourable  for  introducing  the  principles  of  piety 
into  the  mind,  and  cherishing  the  warm  affections  and 
the  sacred  glow  of  religion.  The  advance  of  life  may 
be  more  distinguished  for  stability  of  character,  for 
prudence  and  wisdom;  but  the  fervors  of  piety,  of  cha- 
rity, and  divine  love,  flourish  chiefly  in  youth.  Then  is 
the  period  which  requires  the  most  earnest  application 
ofmindforthe  cultivation  of  every  praiseworthy  talent 
of  our  nature,  and  of  every  divine  grace  that  habitually 
elevates  the  wsoui  to  heaven.  If  youth  has  been  misspent, 
manhood  becomes,  in  consequence,  void  of  worth,  age 
sinks  into  contempt,  and,  most  commonly,  the  fatal  foun- 
dation is  laid  of  shame  and  everlasting  contempt. 

If  we  may  dare,  without  rashly  interpreting  the 
counsels  of  Heaven,  to  point  out  another  season  pecu- 
liarly fitted  and  designed  by  our  blessed  Saviour  to  call 
his  wandering  children  to  the  bosom  of  his  family,  and 
to  assist  their  progress  in  the  divine  life,  it  is  when  he 
is  pleased,  in  the  superintendance  of  his  gracious  pro- 
vidence over  his  churches,  to  move  by  a  more  copious 


On  Redeeming  Time,  197 

influence  than  usual  of  his  Holy  Spirit  on  the  hearts 
of  men — when  we  see  a  more  solicitous  attention  awa^ 
kened  in  the  public  assemblies  of  christians,  to  the 
truths  of  the  gospel,  and  happier  effects  accompanying 
the  administration  of  its  ordinances.  Whether  these 
seasons  have  been  prepared  by  causes  more  or  less 
obvious,  they  are  to  be  regarded  as  precious  means  to 
assist  the  cultivation  of  the  immortal  interests  of  the 
soul,  while  all  the  sympathies  of  human  nature  are  en- 
gaged on  the  side  of  religion,  in  seeing  greater  numbers 
turning  from  the  error  of  their  ways,  and  the  true  Israel 
are  perceived,  according  to  the  beautiful  image  of  the 
Psalmist,  to  proceed  with  a  more  vigorous  pace  to- 
wards the  heavenly  Zion,  through  this  dry  and  thirsty 
vale,  while  all  its  pools  are  filled  with  water.  Op- 
portunities there  are,  which  impose  on  every  christian, 
inviolable  obligations  to  the  most  active  diligence  in 
all  the  offices  of  religion,  not  only  by  the  blessings 
with  which  they  are  usually  accompanied,  but  by  the 
spiritual  judgments  with  which  their  neglect  or  abuse 
is  often  visibly  followed.  The  soul  which  they  do  not 
dissolve,  they  harden;  if  they  do  not  persuade,  they  ir- 
ritate the  sinner;  the  sins  which  they  do  not  exter 
minate,  only  strike  their  roots  deeper,  and  extend  them 
wider  in  a  soil  which  has  been  partially  softened  by  the 
rains  and  the  dews  of  heaven.  The  most  inveterate 
enemies  of  Jesus  Christ,  and  of  his  holy  religion  are 
commonly  found  among  those  who  were  once,  almost 
persuaded  to  be  christians. 

Apply   these  reflections,  as  they  may  be  justly  ap- 
plied, to  those  movements  of  divine  grace  which  are 


198  On  Redeeming  Time. 

more  peculiar  and  personal.  Seasons  there  are  in  the 
life  of  perhaps  every  hearer  of  the  gospel,  when  divine 
truth  addresses  itself  with  more  than  ordinary  persua- 
sion to  the  heart;  when  Divine  Providence  has,  by 
some  interesting  dispensation,  reached  its  inmost  feel- 
ings, and  awakened  it  to  deep  and  serious  reflection. 
Tliese  are  precious  moments.  Cherish  their  sacred 
impressions;  pursue  the  pious  and  penitent  resolutions 
which  they  have  begun  to  form,  and  let  them  augment 
your  earnest  solicitude  at  the  throne  of  heavenly 
grace.  Know,  then,  the  merciful  day  of  your  visitation, 
and  improve  it  with  diligence  to  the  glory  of  God  and 
your  own  salvation,  whether  itrises  in  brightness,  like  the 
morning  sun  unspotted  with  a  saddening  cloud;  or  de- 
scends, hke  the  refreshing  dews  and  shadows  of  the 
evening. 

III.  This  important  obligation  consists,  in  the  next 
place,  in  a  wise  and  prudent  distribution  of  the  employ- 
ments and  duties  of  each  day,  and  giving  to  each  its  ap- 
propriate season.  Our  time  can  seldom  be  less  usefully 
employed  than  by  an  irregular  and  unequal  attendance 
on  its  necessary  avocations.    But  when  each  engage- 
ment commands  its  stated  period;  and  the  whole  bu- 
siness of  life  has  its  order  fixed,  you  multiply  its  use- 
ful moments,  and  every  portion  of  your  existence  is 
made  to  contribute  to  some  valuable  end.     But  if  the 
seasons  of  devotion,  of  meditation,  and  the  various  of- 
fices of  piety,  are  wavering  and  unsettled,  seldom  can 
the  soul  be  devoutly  collected  in  these  holy  exercises, 
and  raised  to  a  due  elevation  of  pious  fervour.    They 
are  then  easily  turned  aside,  or  postponed  by  every 


J 


On  Redeeming   Time.  199 

trivial  occurrence,  and  your  affections  become  cold  and 
unequal.  In  order,  therefore,  to  redeem  the  time  with 
the  best  advantages,  employ  it  with  order;  appropriate 
to  each  duty  its  proper  season,  and  to  each  season  its 
proper  duty.  Thus  may  you  prolong  hfe;  you  may 
multiply  its  useful  moments,  and  increase  the  value  of 
each  moment  as  it  passes,  for  the  most  holy  offices 
and  duties  of  religion. 

IV.  The  sacred  obligation  of  redeeming  time,  in- 
cludes, in  the  last  place,  such  a  recollection  of  the 
time  which  is  past,  as  will  make  it  a  useful  monitor  to 
direct  us  in  the  wise  employment  of  the  future.  The 
frailties  of  human  nature  require  that  it  should  be  edu- 
cated in  the  severe  school  of  experience,  that  we  may 
learn  wisdom  from  our  own  errors.  Too  commonly  the 
review  of  life,  is  only  the  review  of  its  follies,  of  its 
omissions  of  duty,  of  the  mistakes  of  ignorance,  of  the 
illusions  of  pleasure,  of  the  surprises  of  passion,  of  op- 
portunities neglected,  of  time  misapplied  and  wasted. 
From  a  faithful  retrospect  of  our  errors,  what  instruct- 
ive lessons  may  often  be  derived!  Here  prudence  may 
learn  to  avoid  the  faults  into  which  inadvertence  has 
fallen;  to  escape  follies  into  which  passion  has  been 
ensnared:  to  correct  the  defects  of  precipitancy,  or  the 
more  serious  evils  of  criminal  ignorance.  If  pleasure 
has  deceived  you,  my  brother,  by  specious  appear- 
ances, if  passion  has  involved  you  in  disastrous  conse- 
quences, let  experience  preserve  you  hereafter,  by  con- 
tinually pointing  to  these  beacons  of  your  danger. 

Another  important  instruction  meets  us,  in  this  se- 
rious review  of  time.  It  is  calculated  deeply  to  pene- 


200  On  Redeeming  Time. 

trate  the  heart  with  its  extreme  brevity;  that  affecting 
idea  so  little  realized  by  men  in  the  moments  of  health, 
but  always  so  justly  alarming  to  the  sons  of  guiU.  In  look- 
ing forward,  time  appears  long,  and  we  are  often  impa- 
tient of  its  tardy  progress;  it  is  only  when  we  take  a  retro- 
spective view,  that  we  discern  how  speedily  it  has  flown. 
The  ancients  painted  these  truths  to  the  imagination  by 
a  very  striking  emblem.  It  was  the  image  of  an  old  man 
who  had  but  a  single  lock  of  hair  remaining  on  his 
head,   and  that  was  before;  while  the  hinder  portion 
was  entirely  bare.  Conveying  this  most  interesting  mo- 
ral, that,  if  we  do  not  seize  time  and  opportunity  prompt- 
ly, while  it  is  advancing,  and   presents  to  us  only  this 
forelock,   there  is  nothing  by  which  we  can  arrest  or 
detain  it  when  it  has  passed.  This  aged  figure,  which 
carried  with  him   a  formidable  sithe,  that,  in  its  de- 
structive sweep,  cut  off  all  animated  being,  like  the 
grass  of  the  field,  hid  behind  him ,  in  his  approach,  an 
ample  pair  of  wings,  and  seemed  to  move  with  the  tar- 
dy and  faltering  pace  of  decrepid  years,  but  when  past, 
he  spread  his  pinions,  and  flew  with  inconceivable  swift- 
ness. Behold,  my  beloved  brethren,  an  image  of  time! 
II.  Permit  me  now  to  offer  to  your  serious  consi- 
deration, some  additional  reflections  on  the  importance, 
the  brevity,  and  the  uncertainty  of  our  time  on  earth, 
in  order  to  enforce  the  duty  enjoined  in  the  text. 

The  importance  of  things  may  often  be  estimated 
from  their  connexions;  and  the  life  of  man  deiives 
an  unspeakable  value  from  its  relation  to  succeeding 
eternity.  It  is  the  season  of  preparation  for  our  immor- 


OnRedeemiiig  Time.  ;20l 

tal  existence,  in  which  according  to  the  use,  or  the 
abuse  that  we  make  of  it,  shall  be  fixed  the  condition 
of  every  soul  either  in  a  glorious  and  interminable  fe- 
licitj,  or  a  condition  of  wo  which  my  heart  shrinks 
to  conceive,  and  my  tongue  fails  to  pronounce.  My 
Christian  brethren!  how  interesting  and  how  awful  this 
consideration! 

If  we  see  mankind  so  assiduously  labouring  as  they 
do,  for  the  meat  that  perisheth;  for  a  perishing  fortune 
which  they  must  soon  leave  to  others;  or  a  perishing 
name  which  shall  soon  be  buried  with  their  ashes  in 
their  tombs,  how  much  more  ought  we  to  labour  for  the 
meat  which  endureth  to  everlasting  life!  for  the  glorious 
distinctions,  and  the  high  rewards  wherewith  God  shall 
crown  the  fidelity  of  those  who  love  him! — For  the 
wise  shall  shine  as  the  brightness  of  the  firmament  and 
they  that  turn  many  to  righteousness,  as  the  stars  for  ever 
and  ever.  Christians!  can  this  narrow  period  of  time, 
these  fugitive  moments,  appear  in  a  more  interesting 
light  than  as  destined  to  prepare  the  soul  for  her  im- 
mortal being?  The  faithful  improvement  of  this  tran- 
sient existence  opens  a  path  to  glory  and  immortality 
which  is  terminated  only  by  the  throne  of  God. 

Not  only  does  our  present  life  derive  a  reflected 
value  from  that  immortal  being  which  awaits  us;  but 
its  importance  is  unspeakably  enhanced  by  the  consi- 
deration that  it  is  the  only  season  wherein  the  salvation 
of  the  soul  can  be  attained.  There  is  no  after  state  in 
which  the  errors  and  mistakes  of  the  present  may  be 
corrected.  The  voice  of  the  Spirit  of  truth  has  declar- 
ed;—  There  is  no  work,  nor  device,  nor  knowledge,  nor 
wisdom,  in  tlie  grave  whither  thou  goest.  Do  you  not 

VOL.   I.  Dd 


202  On  Redeeming  Time. 

hear  the  decree  of  Heaven  announced  in  terms  so 
explicit  that  no  sophistry  can  explain  them  away?  Do 
you  not  see  it  illustrated  by  the  whole  course  of  pro- 
vidence. If  the  season  of  education  and  improvement 
has  been  misapplied,  can  its  lost  advantages  ever  be  re- 
gained? if  you  have  neglected  your  seed  time,  can  you 
hope  to  reap  in  harvest?  Do  not  intemperance  and 
profligacy  implant  diseases  in  the  constitution,  which 
no  medicine,  no  length  of  time,  no  repentance  can  cure? 
and  when  the  Son  of  man  shall  sit  on  the  throne  of  his 
glory,  judging  the  universe,  what  is  his  fearful  decree 
on  those  who  die  in  their  sins?  Let  him  that  is  filthy, 
he  filthy  still.  Depart  ye  cursed  into  everlasting  fire! — 
Yes,  then,  the  merciful  Abraham  cannot  send  Laza- 
rus with  one  drop  of  water  to  mitigate  the  intensity  of 
the  flames  which  consume  them.  Yes,  when  the  Bride- 
groom is  come,  the  doors  of  mercy  are  forever  closed 
against  the  foolish  virgins  who  were  not  prepared  to  re- 
ceive him  at  his  coming. 

The  dissolute  and  profligate  often  abridge,  by  their 
own  follies,  the  brief  period  of  the  mercy  of  Heaven. 
Before  they  have  run  out  half  their  days,  they  are  given 
up  to  an  impenitent  mind;  and  the  secret  seal  of  the 
Almighty  is  already  fixed  upon  their  destiny.  Behold 
then.  Christians,  heirs  of  immortality!  the  unspeakable 
value  of  this  transient  portion  of  time.  Life,  fleeting 
and  precarious,  contains  the  utmost  limit  of  the  sea- 
son, and  the  means  of  salvation;  of  that  period  of  our 
moral  education  which  is  destined  to  cultivate  the  soul 
for  heaven.  These  blessings  are,  perhaps,  restricted 
even  to  a  brief  portion  of  the  rapid  hour  which  is  pass- 


On  Redeeming  Time.  203 

Ing:  possibly  the  present  moment  brings  with  it  the  only 
remaining  offer  of  the  divine  mercy,  which  awaits  thee, 
my  dear  brother.  AH  the  importance  of  eternity  may  be 
attached  to  each  moment,  as  it  passes.  With  what  fer- 
vent devotion  of  soul,  ought  it  to  be  redeemed,  and  put 
to  profit! 

If  all  the  hopes  of  the  present  Hfe,  if  life  itself,  to  any 
culprit  against  the  laws  of  his  country,  should  rest  upon 
a  single  moment;  if  the  criminal  had  only  this  moment 
remaining,  in  which  to  solicit  a  reprieve,  that  was  still 
in  his  power,  how  precious  would  that  moment  be? 
With  what  earnestness  would  he  prefer  his  suit.'^  would 
he  engage  others  in  his  behalf?  would  he  study  to  in- 
terest the  public  sympathy?  would  he  set  to  work 
every  engine  which  could  advance  his  hopes?  Alas! 
what  is  that  little  particle  of  time  which  a  criminal 
could  redeem  from  death,  compared  with  his  eternal 
existence?  What  is  this  frail  and  perishing  life,  if  we 
could  prolong  it  to  its  utmost  period  upon  earth,  com- 
pared with  the  ever  during  being  which  commences 
beyond  the  tomb?  What  is  that  stroke  which  it  awakes 
all  his  energies  to  escape,  however  painful  or  however 
shameful  it  may  be,  which  mingles  only  this  corrupt- 
able  portion  of  our  nature  with  the  dust,  to  that  fearful 
decree  which  consigns  both,  soul  and  body  to  Hell  for- 
ever? 

Could  one  of  the  happy  children  of  light  address 
you  from  the  abodes  of  blessedness,  in  which  he  en- 
joys the  ecstacies  of  eternity,  with  what  immortal  ar- 
dors would  he  proclaim  the  value  of  time?  would  he 
press  upon  you  the  wise  improvement  of  the  present 


204  .  On  Redeeming  Time. 

moment,  pointing  to  the  glory  in  which  he  now  exists, 
and  which,  after  a  few  more  conflicts,  awaits  every  pi- 
ous soul  in  the  mansions  of  the  redeemed?  Fearing 
the  weakness  of  faith,  clouded  and  darkened  as  it  is  by 
the  shadows  of  sense,  which  once  impeded  his  own 
progress  in  the  divine  life,  and  put  to  hazard  his  own 
salvation;  how  would  he  redouble  the  earnestness  of 
his  admonitions,  and  strive  to  reanimate  your  languish- 
ing zeal! 

On  the  other  hand,  could  you  hear  the  lamentations 
of  one  of  those  miserable  j^moners  oX wrath,  who  are 
reserved  in  chains,  under  darkness  unto  the  judgment  of 
the  great  day;  in  what  fearful  accents  would  he  preach 
the  same  truth!  Would  not  his  lamentations  be  in  the 
room  of  len  thousand  arguments,  to  gain  an  access  to  your 
hearts?  Oh!  those  precious  means  of  securing  the  sal- 
vation of  my  soul,  once  indulged  me  by  the  mercy  of 
Heaven,  but  lost  by  my  folly,  by  my  madness!  In  what, 
alas!  have  they  ended?  Terrible  judge  of  the  universe! 
only  in  these  flames  which  consume  me!  When  I  look 
round,  I  behold  nothing  but  unquenchable  fires;  but 
the  horrors  of  despair!  When  I  look  forward  to  eternal 
ages,  the  same  fires  burn,  the  same  horrors  reign! 
Mortals!  if  you  knew  your  present  happiness!  Just 
God!  were  not  thy  decree  inexorable!  could  I  regain 
the  moments  I  have  lost!  irrevocably  lost!  how  would 
I  consecrate  them  only  to  thee!  Yes,  I  would  astonish 
the  world  with  my  zeal.  They  would  call  it  madness; 
but  to  a  soul  that  knows  the  power  of  thy  wrath,  it 
would  be  only  the  fervor  and  diligence  of  wisdom. 

In  the  ardent  sentiments  of  these  heirs  of  glory,  and 


On  Redeeming  Time.  205 


"o 


these  heirs  of  shame  learn,  my  beloved  bretliren,  to  es- 
timate the  preciousness  of  those  moments  which,  by  the 
unmerited  favour  of  Ahnighty  God,  you  still  enjoy. 
What  lessons  on  their  pious  employment  do  they  teach 
to  iiumble  wisdom! 

The  duty  of  redeeming  time  is  urged  with  increased 
force,  if  possible,  by  the  solemn  considerations  of  its 
brevity,  and  its  infinite  uncertainty.  But  how  shall 
we  give  impression  to  these  important  truths,  which 
seem  to  have  lost  their  effect  upon  the  hearts  of  men 
only  by  their  constant  repetition  in  our  public  assem- 
blies, and  even  by  the  terrible  examples  of  them  conti- 
nually presented  to  our  view  in  the  course  of  divine 
providence.  0  God!  thou  alone,  by  thy  heavenly  grace, 
canst  effectually  touch  the  heart,  otherwise  insensible 
to  the  instructions  of  thy  blessed  word!  Give  efficacy 
to  these  solemn  ideas, — accompany  the  admonitions  of 
thy  holy  providence,  so  often  seen  and  disregarded;  so 
often  felt,  for  a  moment,  and  forgotten,  with  the  pow- 
erful energy  of  thy  most  Holy  Spirit! 

My  brethren,  look  back  upon  the  long  succession  of 
time  that  is  passed.  How  many  generations  of  the  hu- 
man race  have  been  already  swept  from  the  earth,  and  the 
places  which  have  knoimi  them,  shall  knmv  them  no  more 
forever!  And  are  not  we,  in  our  turn,  hasting  to  pass  from 
the  view  of  men.''  The  period  in  which  we  have  lived, 
shall  in  a  little  time,  be  no  longer  remembered;  or,  if 
history  record  a  few  events,  merely  to  connect  the  se- 
ries of  ages,  they  will  form  but  one  imperceptible  link 
in  that  infinite  chain.  Oiir  days  on  earth  are  as  a  slut- 
doiv;  as  the  vision  of  the  night;  as  a  vapour  which  ap- 


206  On  Hedeemins:  Time 


't> 


peareth  for  a  little,  and  then  vanisheth  away. — Great 
God!  so  teach  ns  to  number  our  days,  that  we  may  ap' 
ply  our  hearts  unto  wisdom/ 

If  our  time  is  shorty  is  not  even  this  brief  period 
abridged  by  a  thousand  avocations? — by  the  cares  of  a 
family — by  the  engagements  of  business, — by  the  ne- 
cessary refreshments  of  nature, — by  the  functions  of 
our  station, — by  the  decencies  and  civihties  of  society? 
— Take  from  Hfe  all  that  is  necessarily,  or  unnecessarily 
bestowed  upon  the  world ;  take  from  it  all  that  is  wasted 
in  dissipation,  in  frivolity,  in  anmsement,  in  mere  inac- 
tion, and  how  small  a  portion  remains  to  be  exclusive- 
ly devoted  to  devotion,  and  the  cares  of  our  salvation? 
And,  is  not  that  small  portion  continually  escaping  from 
us  almost  without  our  observation?  Arrest  it,  then, 
in  its  progress  by  the  power  of  meditation.  Recall  it 
daily  to  your  own  tribunal,  rejudging  there  the  actions 
of  every  day.  Fix  your  attention  deeply  on  its  solemn 
and  awful  lapse. 

A  profitable  exercise  it  may  be  frequently  to  set  apart 
some  stated  period,  as  a  birth  day;  the  commencement 
of  a  new  year;  the  anniversary  of  some  remarkable  dis- 
pensation of  divine  providence,  and  reviewing  the  inter- 
val between  the  present  and  the  past,  to  demand  of  your 
heart  how  you  have  lived  in  the  mean  time;  what  you 
have  done  for  God,  for  eternity,  for  the  benefit  of  human 
nature?  what  ripeness  you  have  gained  for  heaven? 

It  may  not  be  unuseful,  frequently,  in  serious  medi- 
tation, to  count  the  hours  as  they  strike,  or  attend  to 
the  seconds  as  they  beat.  They  are  so  many  portions 
of  time  continually  reuniting  themselves  with  eternity. 
A  few  more  shall  beat,  and  the  last  shall  bear  us  with 


On  Redeeming  Time.  207 

it  on  its  wings  to  the  tribunal  of  God.  A  celebrated  poet 
has  employed  this  thought  with  great  beauty  and  force. 
— It  was  past  the  dead  hour  of  midnight,  and  mortals, 
all  insensible,  were  sleeping  on  the  bosom  of  that  mighty 
stream  which  is  silently,  and  constantly  bearing  us 
along  with  it  into  the  abyss  of  eternity. — The  next 
hour  tolled: — "  The  bell,  saith  he,  strikes  one!  we  take 
no  note  of  time,  but  by  its  loss.  To  give  it  then,  a 
tongue  is  wise  in  man.  As  if  an  angel  spoke,  I  feel 
the  solemn  sound.  It  is  the  knell  of  my  departed  hours. 
— It  is  the  signal  that  demands  despatch. — How  much 
is  still  to  do!" 

If  to  the  brevity,  we  add  the  uncertainty  of  time,  that 
fearful  uncertainty,  which  every  where  meets  our  view 
in  ten  thousand  affecting  examples,  can  motives  more 
powerful,  or  interesting  be  addressed  to  perishing  mor- 
tals to  be  always  in  readiness  for  the  coming  of  their  Lord. 
It  is  the  common  and  fatal  error  of  mankind  to  count 
upon  the  continuance  of  time,  and  opportunity,  till  they 
are  just  vanishing  from  their  possession.  In  health, 
they  admit  no  serious  apprehensions  of  the  approach 
of  death,  till  their  last  sickness  has  overtaken  them. 
In  sickness  they  flatter  themselves  till  their  disease  has 
already  seized  upon  their  vitals.  So  true  it  is  that  almost 
all  men  perish  suddenly  at  last.  Some  build  their 
promises  of  life  on  the  vigour  of  their  frame;  some  on 
the  elasticity  of  youth;  and  others  raise  their  falacious 
expectations  even  on  their  old  age,  because  they  have 
already  resisted  so  many  assaults  of  disease,  or  escaped 
so  many  of  the  strokes  of  accident. — Ah!  deceive  not 
yourselves  in  a  calculation  on  which  such  an  infinite 


208  On  Redeeming  Time. 

stake  depends!  Do  you  count  on  the  maturity  of  you^ 
strength?  Alas!  what  is  the  fancied  vigor  of  mortals, 
when  touched,  and  withered  by  the  hand  of  death? 
Do  I  see  in  this  assembly,  a  few  heads  already  blos- 
somed for  the  tomb?  Let  your  withering  wrinkles, 
your  gray  hairs,  your  frail  and  tottering  limbs  be  solemn 
moniters  to  you,  that  you  touch  upon  the  verge  of  the 
eternal  world.  I  seem  to  see  death  beckoning  you. 
Nor  let  the  inexperienced  ardor  of  youth,  which  gilds 
so  deceptively  the  prospects  of  life,  delude  the  young 
with  the  vain  hope  of  having  time  to  spare.  No  age, 
alas!  is  exposed  to  greater  hazards.  Your  precipitan- 
cy, your  inexperience,  the  delicacy  of  your  frame  which 
constitutes  the  principal  charm  of  that  lovely  period, 
are  your  snares,  and  often  the  invisible  pitfalls  of  your 
ruin.  Death  lies  in  ambush  about  your  path.  He 
points  his  fatal  arrows  at  one  and  another  of  your  com- 
panions. You  see  them  fall  in  the  midst  of  the  tri- 
umphs of  conscious  strength  and  beauty.  And  thou, 
my  brother!  my  son!  thou  dost  not  know  if  the  next 
shaft  may  not  be  aimed  at  thee.     Amen  ! 


THE  GIVING 


OF  THE 


LAW  ON  MOUNT  SINAI. 


I  the  third  month,  when  the  children  of  Israel  were  gone  forth  out  of  the 

land  of  Egypt,  the  same  day  came  they  into  the  wilderness  of  Sinai 

and  there  fsrael  encamped  before  the  Mount.     Ex.  19.  1,2. 

The  people  of  Israel,  having  left  Rephidim,  where 
til  at  miraculous  stream  from  the  rock  had  refreshed 
tlieir  fainting  spirits,  and  where  Joshua  had  made  his 
first  essay  in  generalship  in  a  victorious  conflict  with 
the  hosts  of  Amalek,  were  encamped  in  the  plain  of 
Sinai,  before  that  sacred  mountain  on  which  God  had 
ali"eady  appeared  to  Moses,  to  invest  him  with  the 
high  commission  of  legislator  of  his  chosen  people, 
and  on  which  he  was  again  about  to  appear  in  terrible 
majesty  to  promulge  his  holy  law.  Hitherto  they 
possessed  no  known  and  written  code,  but  were  regu- 
lated by  daily  orders  issued  by  their  leader.  All  their 
controversies  were  brought  to  his  tribunal  to  be  deci- 
ded according  to  a  law  in  his  own  breast,  of  according 
to  those  lights  by  which,  in  special  cases,  his  mind  was 
informed  from  above.  Henceforward,  they  were  to 
enjoy  a  known  and  written  system  of  laws  by  which 
they  should  understand  both  their  duties,  and  their 
rights,  and  which  should  be  interpreted  and  appHed 

VOL.  I.  EC 


2 1 6  The  giving  of  the  Law 

by  judges  chosen  from  among  the  most  venerable  heads 
df  famihes  in  their  respective  tribes. 

To  the  legislator  himself,  appeals  lay  only  in  a  few 
great  and  difficult  causes.  In  that  unrefined  age,  the 
extreme  simplicity  of  manners  required,  and  admitted 
of,  only  the  most  simple  organization  of  the  govern- 
ment, and  the  people,  in  their  judges,  found  their  Fa- 
thers.* 

All  the  preparations  for  the  publication  of  the  law 
were  made  with  the  greatest  solemnity.  Limits,  which 
the  people  were  not  to  pass,  were  marked  out  round 
the  mountain  on  which  the  glory  of  God  was  to  des- 
cend, to  teach  them  the  profound  distance  at  which 
they  were  placed  from  him, — the  awful  reverence  with 
which  they  should  approach  the  presence,  or  hear  the 
commands  of  their  Creator.  They  were  required  to 
purify  themselves,  to  wash  their  garments,  and  to  pre- 
serve their  persons  from  ail  defilement,  as  emblems  of 
that  purity  of  soul  with  which  we  should  come  before 
Him  who  is  holy,  who  searcheth,  and  will,  at  last,  judge 
the  lieart. — And  finally,  they  were  called  to  impose  up- 
on themselves  a  solemn  and  national  vow  to  obey  the 
laws  which  were  about  to  be  promulgated  to  them 
from  heaven. 

The  circumstances  accompanying  this  vow  merit 
your  attention.  Moses  was  called  up  into  the  Mount 
by  Godi  probably  by  means  of  some  voice  distinctly 

*  The  respectable  and  pious  priest  of  Midian,  the  father-in-law  of  the 
legislator,  had  the  merit  of  suggesting  this  judicial  arrangement  when  he 
came  to  bring  to  Moses  his  wife  and  liis  two  sons,  whom  lie  had  sent  back 
into  Arabia,  when  he  went  into  Egypt  to  deliver  his  countrymen. 


On  Mount  Sinai.  2\l 

formed  in  the  air:  for,  that  no  image,  or  figure  of  any 
being  uas  ever  seen  by  Moses,  he  himself  expressly  and 
strongly  asserts.  He  brings  back  from  Jehovah  a  mes- 
sage full  of  affection,  recounting  the  prodigies  by  which 
he  had  effected  their  deliverance  in  Egypt,  and  the 
care  with  which  he  had  guided,  cherished,  and  protected 
them  in  their  dangerous  march;  and,  concluding  with 
the  most  gracious  promises,  if  they  should  continue  to 
observe  his  covenant,  and  to  obey  his  word; — you  shall 
be  to  me  a  peculiar  treasure  above  all  people;  a  king- 
dom ofjjriests?  a  holy  nation — This  message  Moses 
communicated  to  the  elders  who  were  the  magistrates, 
and  representatives  of  the  nation,  and  they  to  their  res- 
pective divisions  of  the  people,  who,  with  universal  ac- 
clamation, pronounced  all  that  the  Loid  hath  spoken 
we  imll  do. 

On  the  morning  of  the  third  day,  as  Moses  had  fore- 
told,  while  the  minds  of  the  whole  nation  were  sus- 
pended in  anxious  expectation,  God  descended  on 
Mount  Sinai,  in  the  symbols  of  his  awful  Majesty  and 
his  glorious  power.  Clouds  and  darkness  involved 
its  summit;  while  the  tremendous  thunders  and  light- 
nings which  issued  from  them  struck  terror  to  the 
hearts  of  that  vast  congregation.  The  mountain  was 
all  on  flame,  and  the  smoke,  as  a  mighty  furnace,  as- 
cended from  it  to  the  skies.  In  the  midst  of  these  con- 
vulsions of  the  elements,  the  trumpet,  the  image  of  that 
last  trumpet  which  shall  raise  the  dead  and  shake  the 
universe,  sounded  long  and  loud.  And  as  it  waxed 
louder  and  louder,  the  whole  mountain  shook  to  its 
base.    Then  it  was  that  God,  willing  to  put  a  mark 


2 1 2  The  giving  of  the  Law 

of  distinguished  honor  on  his  chosen  prophet,  and  t* 
stamp  a  divine  authority  on  his  mission,  in  the  hearts 
of  the  assembled  nation,  called  him,  by  a  heavenly 
voice,  to  come  up  into  the  top  of  Mount  Sinai  invel- 
oped  in  clouds  and  flames.  Behold,  then,  this  divine 
man,  all  serene,  penetrating,  if  I  may  speak  so,  the  bo- 
som of  the  thunder,  and  approaching  the  presence  of 
him  who  maketh  darkness  his  pavilion  round  about  him, 
dark  vapours,  and  thick  clouds  of  the  sky;  before  whom 
the  earth  shook  and  trembled,  and  the  foundations  of  the 
heaven  were  moved.  How  sublime  the  spectacle!  what 
grandeur,  what  authority  did  it  throw  round  the  charac- 
ter of  their  legislator  in  the  eyes  of  that  great  nation! 
There  he  conversed  face  to  face  with  God  his  maker; 
and  returned  only  to  dispose  them  in  order,  to  receive 
the  law  which  was  about  to  be  proclaimed  not  by  man, 
or  by  inferior  agents,  but  by  the  awful  voice  of  God 
himself  Then  was  the  moral  law,  the  basis  of  the 
political  and  religious  institutions  of  Israel;  that  lavi^ 
which  was  afterwards  written  on  two  tables  of  stone; 
and  which  is  inscribed  by  nature  on  the  hearts  of  all 
men,  delivered  from  the  midst  of  the  darkness  where 
God  resided;  and  each  law  was  announced  in  thunder. 
That  law,  so  apt  to  be  forgotten  by  mankind  unless 
when  recalled  by  some  dreadful  dispensation  of  divine 
Providence,  was  impressed  on  their  hearts  by  all  the 
terrors  of  the  Almighty.  The  people  overwhelmed  with 
fear,  besought  Moses  that  he  only  would  speak  to  them, 
hereafter,  in  the  name  of  God,  and  let  not  God  speak  to 
us  lest  ice  die.  Moses  again  ascended  into  the  Mount. 
The  thunderings  and  the  lightnings  ceased.     Only  the  I 


On  Mount  Sinai.  2\$ 

thick  cloud  remained  upon  the  summit;  and  the  holy 
legislator  entered  alone  into  the  darkness  vvhei'e  the 
glory  of  the  Most  High  resided.  He  brought  thence, 
after  six  days,  the  heads  of  his  civil  and  religious  poli- 
ty, and  reciting  them  in  the  audience  of  all  the  people, 
engaged  them,  by  new  vows,  to  their  observance  * 
Once  more,  however,  he  was  to  return  into  the  Mount, 
that  he  might  receive  from  God  in  detail  all  the  insti- 
tutions of  that  singular,  but  admirable  code,  which  was 
destined  for  the  future  government  of  Israel. 

Committing,  therefore,  the  supreme  government  to 
Aaron  and  Hur,  during  his  absence,  he  retired,  along 
with  Joshua,  his  lieutenant  and  successor,  into  the 
cloud  which  still  invested  the  top  of  the  Mount,  and 
veiled  the  divine  glory  which  shone  in  the  midst. 
Here,  in  a  residence  of  forty  days,  he  received  from 
God  the  tables  of  the  moral  law,  and  the  volume  of 
his  political,  and  ceremonial  institutions. 

Let  us  review  the  scene  at  once  so  awful  and  ma- 
jestic, which  we  have  just  contemplated  that  we  may 
derive  from  it  some  useful  and  pious  reflections  which 
may  confirm  our  faith,  and  lead  us  justly  to  esteem  our 

*  For  this  purpose,  he  took  with  him  Aaron,  Nadab  and  Abihu,  and  se- 
venty of  the  elders  of  Israel,  as  representatives  of  the  whole  nation,  and  on 
one  of  the  eminences  of  Sinai  far  below  the  summit,  but  in  the  view  of 
the  whole  camp,  he  periormed  all  the  rites  which,  in  that  age,  were  used 
to  accompany  the  most  solemn  covenants.  He  erected  twelve  pillars, 
one  for  each  tribe,  as  lasting  monuments  of  the  transaction, — he  sacrificed 
a  victim, — he  spread  a  feast  of  which  they  all  partook  before  God, — and 
finally  he  look  the  blood  of  the  victim,  which  is  called  the  blood  of  the  co- 
venant, one  half  he  sprinkled  on  the  altar,  and  with  the  other  he  sprink- 
led the  people  after  they  had,  with  cue  voice  declared,  all  that  the  Lord 
hath  spoken  mil  we  do. 


214  The  giving  of  the  Law 

own  superior  blessings  under  the  milder  dispensation  of 
the  gospel.     All  these  glorious  displays  of  divine  power 
seem  to  have  been  necessary  to  give  authenticity  to 
the  mission  of  this  great  legislator,  and  to  procure  from 
a  people  as  yet  rude  and  uncultivated,  a  prompt  obe- 
dience to  his  laws.      The  lights  of  the  great  revela- 
tion of  nature  were  beginning  to  be  extinguished  in 
the  corruptions  of  the  world;  the  pious  traditions  of 
the  patriarchs  of  the  respective  nations  were  hastening 
to  be  buried  under  the  growing  mass  of  superstitions: 
when  God  would  arrest  this  corruption,  and  rescue  the 
truth  from   beneath  the  load    of  superstitious  error 
which    covered    it,    it   became    necessary  to   display 
anew  before  the  eyes  of  mankind,  the  same  omnipo- 
tent power  which  created  the  universe.     He  alone 
who  gave  the  original  law  of  nature  could  restore  and 
repubhsh  it,  if  it  has  been  lost  and  corrupted.     When 
God  determined  to  rear  a  nation  to  be  the  depositary 
of  divine  truth,  and  of  the  hope  of  the  world,  it  was  to 
be  expected  that  he  would  found  it  on  some  transcend- 
ent demonstrations  of  his  power  and  glory.     Miracles 
of  grandeur,  mira(  les  of  terror  only  could  produce  a 
deep  and  permanent  impression  on  minds  like  theirs, 
or  inspire  that  voluntary  submission  to  law  and  politi- 
cal order  which  Moses  desired  to  establish.  What  was 
the  state  of  their  minds.'^     Bred  in  servitude,  knowing 
no  law  but  the  will  of  their  masters,  they  possessed  not 
the  habits  of  self-government,  and  were  unacquainted 
with  the  institutions  of  evil  society:  just  emancipated 
from  slavery,  in  the  delirium  and  intoxication  of  freedom, 
they  were  impatient^  murmuring,  factious.  No  means, 


On  Mount  Sinai.  2\5 

then,  existed,  by  which  such  a  people  could  be  govern- 
ed, except  a  mihtary  despotism,  by  which  they  would 
still  be  subjected  to  a  master;  or  an  institution  founded 
on  the  awful  power  of  religion,  by  which,  while  the 
mind  was  subdued  to  obedience  and  habits  of  order,  it 
would,  at  the  same  time,  acquire  a  sense  of  its  digni- 
ty, and  its  rights.  Moses  was  too  wise,  too  humane, 
and  too  pious  a  legislator  to  aim  at  establishing  a  d€S- 
potism  which  degrades  and  depraves  the  mind.  He 
wished  to  infuse  a  degree  of  liberty  into  his  govern- 
ment which  was  not  known  in  that  age,  and  which 
their  habits  and  ideas  had  not  yet  prepared  them  to  en- 
joy. He  gave  them  known  and  certain  laws  which 
ascertained  their  rights  not  less  than  their  duties,  he 
entrusted  their  administration  only  to  the  most  compe- 
tent and  impartial  hands;  and  placed  the  whole  under 
the  sacred  and  inviolable  protection  of  religion.  And 
the  most  tremendous  sanctions  of  religion,  the  most 
sublime  displays  of  divine  power,  were  necessary  to 
subdue  the  untractable  minds  of  this  great  nation,  even 
to  institutions  on  which  their  prosperity,  and  their  ex- 
istence depended.  Other  legislators,  indeed,  have  pre- 
tended to  a  secret  intercourse  with  some  Deity,  in  or- 
der to  procure  veneration  for  their  laws,  and  to  strength- 
en their  own  authority.  But  who,  like  Moses,  has 
conversed  with  heaven  in  the  face  of  an  assembled 
nation.-^  Who,  like  him,  has  wielded  the  powers  of 
heaven  in  the  sight  of  millions?  has  obtained  from 
heaven  those  illustrious  testimonies  which  come  home 
to  the  senses  and  the  heart  of  every  spectator.''  His 
miracles  rested  not  on  the  credulity  of  vulgar  minds, 


216  The  giving  of  the  Law 

nor  could  they  consist  in  deceptions  of  sense.  Could 
Moses,  in  the  passage  of  the  Red  Sea,  in  the  miracu- 
lous descent  of  their  d^ily  bread,  in  the  tremendous 
tokens  of  the  divine  presence  on  Mount  Sinai  have 
imposed  on  the  senses  of  a  whole  nation?  Could  he^ 
without  illustrious  miracles  have  induced  this  nation,  as 
yet  uncultivated  and  disorderly,  to  adopt  so  holy  and 
sublime  a  law?  Could  he  have  fixed  its  roots  so  deep- 
ly in  their  hearts  as  to  render  it  more  stable  than  the 
institutions  of  any  other  nation  which  ever  existed? 

The  wisdom  of  the  policy  of  Moses,  in  the  next 
place,  deserves  to  be  admired  and  imitated,  founded  as 
it  is  in  the  purest  and  sublimest  ideas  of  virtue  and  re- 
ligion,    A  finer  epitome  of  pious  and  moral  principles 
never  was  conceived  than  that  w^hich  is  prefixed  to  the 
Mosaic  code.     It  were  too  long  to  go  into  an  analysis 
of  those  commandments,  the  sum  of  which  is,   Thou 
shall  love  the  Lord  thy  God  with  all  thy  heart,  andiwith 
all  thy  sold,  and  with  all  thy  strength,  and  with  all  thy 
mind;  and  thou  shall  love  thy  neighbour  as  thi/self. 
With  these  principles  in  the  heart,  obedience  to  all 
the  particular  laws  which  unfold  and  detail  them,  will 
be  both  certain  and  delightful.     Virtue,  which  is  the 
most  stable  foundation  of   states,  is    itself  securely 
founded  only  in  religion.     When  religion  is  abandon- 
ed, virtue  decHnes  along  with  it.     Impiety  is  the  pa- 
rent of  profligacy  of  manners,  which  when  they  be- 
come general  among  any  people,  absorb  the  public  af- 
fections in  the  pursuits  of  private  pleasure,   and  the 
state  is  hastening  to  be  overturned.     Such  is  the  or- 
tler  of  Providence,  that  depravity  of  morals  is  not  more 


On  Mount  Sinai.  2\1 

©ertainly  the  forerunner  of  the  ruin  of  individuals  tlian 
of  nations.     This  serves  to  explain  that  sanction  ad- 
ded to  the  second  commandnient,  so  often  mistaken 
by  the  friends  of  piety,  and  so  often  made  the  subject 
of  virulent  and  ignorant  declamation  by  its  enemies: — 
/  am  a  jealous  God  visitins^  the  iniquities  of  the  fathers 
upon  the  children  unto  the  third  and  fourth  generation 
of  them  that  hate  me,  and  shoiving  mercy  unto  thou- 
sands of  them  that  love  me  and  keep  my  command- 
ments. Declension  to  idolatry  by  the  people  of  Israel 
would  be  the  utter  dereliction  of  the  true  God,  whose 
glory  they  had  seen  displayed  in  so  many  astonishing 
operations;  and  would  be  in  them  the  proof  and  the 
increasing  source  of  the  general  depravity  of  the  pub- 
lic morals.     When  a  people  is  become  impious  and 
sunk  in  vice,  their  speedy  ruin  is  inevitable.     The 
disorders  and  evils  of  one  generation  are  accumulated 
on  another,  till  at  length,  ail  the  ties  which  hold  socie- 
ty together  being  dissolved,  they  become  ripe  for  con- 
quest, for  horrible  revolutions,  or  for  some  dreadful 
and  exterminating  stroke  of  Divine  Providence.     This 
is  visiting  the  iniquities  of  the  fathers  upon  the  children. 
For  this  threatening,  however  it  may  applicable  to  in- 
dividuals in  a  certain  degree,  has  an  aspect  chiefly  on 
the  state  of  nations.     And  if  we  consult  experience, 
which  is  the  history  of  the  world,  we  shall  find  that, 
when  once  such  extreme  corruption  of  public  senti- 
ment and  manners  has  taken  place,  the  fourth  genera- 
tion, or  even  the  third,  has  seldom  passed,  before  such 
a  nation  is  sunk  into  the  common  gulf  of  states  and 
enipires.     On  the  other  hand,  if  the  republic  preserve 

VOL.  I.  F  f 


S 1 8  jf  Vie  giving  of  the  Law 

its  manners  uncorrupted,  were  it  to  a  thousand  gene- 
rations, such  is  the  force  of  virtue,  it  shall  continue  to 
flourish  under  the  smiles  of  heaven.  Oh!  ignorant  ob- 
jectors to  religion,  who  have  spent  your  venom  on  this, 
as  on  a  thousand  other  passages  in  the  sacred  wri- 
tings, is  it  not,  however,  a  just  exhibition  of  the  visible 
and  established  order  of  the  moral  world?  Why  then 
should  not  God  declare  it  both  as  a  warning  and  an 
encouragement  to  that  people  whom  he  had  taken  un- 
der his  more  imnjediate  protection?  Or  is  it  harsher, 
or  more  unreasonable  to  declare  it  in  terms  than  to 
act  upon  it  in  the  government  of  the  universe?  Ah! 
how  often  does  malignity  of  heart  press  against  reve- 
lation objections  which  it  has  drawn  only  from  the 
fund  of  its  own  ignorance.  Unbehever!  explain  to  me 
the  course  of  nature,  justify  the  visible  order  of  Provi-^ 
dence;  that  is,  explain  and  justify  the  first  principles 
of  your  natural  religion,  and  I  will,  on  the  same 
grounds,  vindicate  the  doctrines  of  revealed. 

But  your  time  demands  that  I  hasten  to  a  conclu- 
sion. Let  uje,  then,  observe,  in  the  last  place,  that  the 
terror  with  which  the  law  was  delivered  on  Mount  Si- 
nai forms  a  striking  contrast  to  the  mildness  and  gen- 
tleness with  which  the  gospel  was  announced  by  the 
Saviour  of  the  world.  Leaving,  now,  the  particular 
circumstances  of  Israel  out  of  view,  which  required  the 
most  awful  demonstrations  of  a  divine  power  to  enforce 
that  law  on  their  acceptance,  which  they  were  not  pre- 
pared by  any  previous  habits  or  ideas,  to  receive;  the 
terrors  of  the  one,  the  peace  and  tranquillity  of  the  other, 
are  emblems  of  a  conscience  penetrated  with  a  sense  of 


On  Mount  Sinai.  219 

guilt,  and  ofa  heart  restored  to  hope  in  the  mercy  of  God 
through  Jesus  Christ  our  Lord.  The  law  is  a  school- 
master to  bring  lis  to  Christ.  Not  only  do  all  the  shadows 
of  that  typical  institution  continually  point  to  the  future 
Saviour,  but  the  conscience  of  guilt,  awakened  by  the 
violated  law,  could  not  be  appeased  but  by  those  vic- 
tims which  derived  their  efficacy  only  from  the  great 
saaifice  which  was  offered /or  the  sins  of  the  whole 
world.  The  law  is  holy,  just,  and  good;  but  for  every 
transgression  it  denounces  death  on  the  sinner,  or  on 
the  victim  which  stands  in  the  sinner's  room.  And 
still  do  we  not  find  that  a  guilty  conscience  forever  re- 
peats the  thunders  of  Sinai  in  the  bottom  of  the  soul? 
To  the  convinced  sinner  the  justice  of  God  appears 
in  the  most  terrible  forms;  devouring  fires  are  kindled 
bj  it;  and  the  dismay,  d  criminal  can  no  longer  speak 
to  the  Most  High,  or  dehver  himself  from  the  fears  of 
instant  perdition  but  through  a  mediator.  Christ,  by 
satisfying  the  claims  of  justice,  by  quenching  the  con- 
suming fires  of  a  broken  law,  by  sprinkling  the  blood 
of  the  covenant  on  the  altar,  and  on  the  sinner,  re- 
stores peace  to  the  heart,  and  opens  the  gates  of  eter- 
nal mercy. The  thunders  of  Sinai  precede  the 

still  small  voice  of  divine  grace.  And  believe  it,  sin- 
ner, you  must  feel  the  full  force  of  the  claims  of  the 
law  before  you  will  ever  be  persuaded  to  flee  to  the  re- 
fuge of  the  gospel.  But  to  every  convinced,  humbled, 
and  penitent  soul,  the  gospel  exhibits  an  immoveable 
rock  on  which  it  may  rest  its  hopes,  an  ark  of  safety  in- 
to which  it  may  retire.  Rejoice  then,  0  christian!  that 
you  are  not  come  to  the  Mount  that  might  not  be  touch- 


220  The  giving  of  the  Law 

ed,  and  that  burned  with  fire;  nor  unto  blackness,  and 
tempest,  and  the  sound  of  a  trumpet,  and  that  dreadtul 
voice  which  they  that  heard,  entreated  that  the  word 
should  not  be  spoken  to  them  any  more:  but  you  are 
come  unto  Mount  Zion,  unto  the  city  of  the  living  God, 
and  to  Jesus  the  Mediator  of  the  new  covenant,  and  to 
the  blood  of  sprinkling  which  speaketh  better  things  than 
that  of  .flbel.  Bfthold,  then,  your  encouragement  and 
consolation  under  all  the  terrors  of  guilt,  under  all  the 
threatenings  of  the  law.  But  remember,  O  hearer  of 
the  gospel,  and  let  the  interesting  truth  sink  deep  into 
your  hearts,  that,  in  proportion  to  the  consolations  and 
the  riches  of  divine  grace,  will  be,  at  last,  the  terrors 
and  the  hopelessness  of  abused  mercy.  See,  then, 
that  you  refuse  not  him  who  speaketh  from  heaven.  For, 
if  he  who  despised  Moses'  law  died  ivithout  mercy,  un- 
der two  or  three  witnesses,  of  how  much,  sorer  punishment 
suppose  ye,  shall  he  be  thought  ivorthy,  who  hath  trod- 
den underfoot  the  Son  of  God,  and  counted  the  blood  of 
the  covenant,  wheiewith  he  was  sanctified,  an  unholy 
thing,  and  hath  done  despite  to  the  spirit  of  grace? 
And  what.  Oh!  what  was  the  awful  grandeur  with 
which  he  descended  on  the  sacred  mountain,  as  the 
legislator  of  Israel,  to  the  terrors  which  shall  surround 
him  as  the  Judge  of  quick  and  dead!  What  was  the 
trumpet  which  shook  sinai  to  its  base,  to  that  trumpet 
which  shall  waken  the  slumbers  of  death,  and  shake  the 
mighty  fabric  of  the  universe  into  ruins!  What  were  the 
fires  and  the  darkness  which  enveloped  its  summit,  to 
the  blackness  of  darkness  forever,  and  to  ihe  fires  which 
shall  never  be  quenched!     What  were  the  dreadful 


On  Mount  Sinai  22 1 

thunders  which  petrified  the  camp  of  Israel^  to  those 
thunders  which  eternal  justice  will  lanchon  the  heads 
of  the  guilty!  Hasten,  then,  O  sinner!  to  the  gates  of 
inercy  while  yet  they  are  standing  open,  before  the  de- 
cree of  heaven,  which  pronounces,  him  tlmt  is  filthy  let 
him  he  filthy  still,  shall  close  them  forever.     Amen! 


A  DISCOURSE 

ON    THE 

GUILT  AND  FOLLY 
OF  BEING  ASHAMED  OF  RELIGION. 


Whosoever,  therefore,  shall  be  ashamed  of  me  and  of  my  words,  in  this  adul- 
terous and  sinful  g'eneration,  of  liim  also  shall  the  Son  of  Man  be  asham- 
ed, when  he  cometh  in  the  glory  of  his  Father,  with  the  holy  Angels. 

Mark  viit.  38. 

To  perform  our  duty,  and  then  without  ostentation 
to  avow  it,  is  our  most  honourable  and  useful  charac- 
ther.  It  is  fuliilling  the  first  law  of  our  nature,  and  ex- 
tending religion  and  virtue  in  the  world,  by  the  influ- 
ence of  our  example.  To  be  ashamed  of  our  duty,  is 
to  be  ashamed  of  our  glory.  To  acknowledge  its  obli- 
gation in  secret,  and  yet  disguise  it  before  men,  disco- 
vers a  weakness  and  duplicity  of  mind,  that  is  no  less 
inconsistent  with  dignity  of  character,  than  with  piety. 
The  sentiment  of  shame,  that  gives,  to  the  opinion  of 
others,  so  great  authority  over  our  conduct,  is,  origin- 
ally, a  wise  and  excellent  law  of  Nature.  But,  the  de- 
pravity of  man  hath  perverted  the  best  principles,  and 
changed  the  most  ingenuous  feelings  of  the  heart  into 
ministers  of  sin.  Great  crimes  are  evidently  opposed  to 
the  interest  of  society,  and,  therefore,  they  are  con- 
demned by  pubUc  opinion.  The  depravity  of  the  human 


On  tJie  guilt  and f oily ^  ^c.  22'i 

heart  is  equally  opposed  to  the  spirit  of  true  religion; 
and,  therefore,  the  manners,  and,  at  least,  the  ostensi- 
ble opinions  of  the  world,  contradict  the  purity  and 
simplicity  of  the  Gospel.  The  one  opposes  vice  in  the 
extreme;  the  other  tends  to  encourage  vice  in  a  certain 
degree. 

The  world  hath  so  accommodated  its  conversation,  its 
wit,  and  its  opinions  to  its  manners,  that  men,  in  the 
cause  of  piety,  are  afraid  of  incurring  its  censure  or 
contempt  They  want  courage  to  oppose  the  stream 
of  custom;  they  renounce  their  duly,  in  compliance 
with  fashionable  vice,  or  they  conceal  their  inward  re- 
verence for  it;  and,  against  their  conviction,  they  live 
like  the  world. 

To  be  ashamed  of  Christ  is  a  sin,  that  may  be  con- 
sidered in  a  variety  oi  hghls.  Our  Saviour,  in  pronoun- 
cing this  sentence,  had,  probably,  an  immediate  view 
to  the  testimony,  which  his  disciples  would  be  called 
to  bear  to  his  name,  before  the  tribunals  of  their  un- 
righteous judges,  where  the  splendor  of  courts,  the 
scoffs  of  enemies,  the  ignominy  of  punishments,  and 
the  humble  and  unfriended  condition  of  the  first  Chris- 
tians, would  all  contribute  to  subdue  their  minds,  to 
make  them  ashamed  of  their  Master's  cross,  and  to  de- 
prive them  of  the  courage  necessary  to  profess,  or  to 
suffer  for,  his  despised  cause. 

Honour  elevates  the  mind,  and  gives  fortitude  to  the 
weak.  Shame  is  an  enfeebling  principle,  that  takes, 
even  from  the  brave  the  confidence  necessary  to  avow 
truth,  and  the  firmness  necessary  to  endure  suffering. 
Indeed,  to  be  ashamed  of  Christ,  and  to  deny  him,  are 


22  4>  On  the  guilt  and  folly 

so  intimately  connected,  as  cause  and  effect,  that  St. 
Matthew,  in  expressing  this  declaration  of  our  Saviour, 
says,  "  whosoever  shall  deny  me  before  men,  him  will 
I  also  deny  before  my  Father,  who  is  in  Heaven." 

Through  the  goodness  of  God,  we  are  not  exposed 
to  persecution.  But,  living  in  an  age  in  which  custom, 
in  which  the  powers  of  wit  and  ridicule,  in  which  the 
honours  of  society,  and  in  which  even  reason  and  phi- 
losophy have  been  engaged  on  the  side  of  vice,  we  are 
hable  to  disguise  the  truths  of  the  Gospel,  and  to  be 
ashamed  of  Christ,  with  a  more  criminal  weakness, 
than  they  who  suffered  their  constancy  to  be  shaken 
by  the  majesty  of  tribunals,  and  the  terror  of  flames. 
It  is  this  evil  which  I  propose,  from  the  text,  to  explain 
and  condemn, 

I.  By  pointing  out  what  is  implied  in  being  ashamed 
of  Christ,  and  his  words,  and, 

II.  By  demonstrating  its  folly,  and  its  guilt. 

I.  in  pointing  out  what  is  implied  in  being  ashamed 
of  Christ,  and  his  words,  I  shall  treat  of  the  sentiment 
of  shame,  directly,  and  unfold  some  of  its  principle 
causes,  and  consequences,  as  they  affect  the  profession 
of  religion. 

I.  In  the  first  place  the  sentiment  of  shame.  This, 
like  other  simple  feelings  and  emotions  of  the  human 
mind,  cannot  be  easily  understood,  except,  by  exciting 
the  perception,  and  calling  to  mind  the  occasions  on 
which  we  have  most  sensibly  felt  its  constraints.  Let 
us  recollect  those  seasons,  in  which  a  sinful  regard  to 
the  observation  of  nien,  has  tempted  us  to  decline  the 
duty  to  which  we  have  been  urged  by  our  own  hearts; 


Of  being  ashamed  of  Religion.  225 

or.  in  which  we  have  gone  into  criminal  compliances 
with  the  work],  through  a  weakness  of  mind,  that  was 
unable  to  support  the  presence,  or  to  contradict  the 
opinions,  of  our  fellow  sinners.  Let  young  persons,  par- 
ticularly, recollect  their  fears,  lest  it  should  be  known 

.  that  they  worship  God,  and  pay,  to  the  Creator,  the 
first  dut}  of  a  creature.  Recollect  what  it  is,  that 
sometimes  clothes  you  with  a  light,  and  thoughtless  air 
in  the  house  of  God;  afraid  to  be  serious,  lest  you 
should  appear  too  much  to  believe  the  Gospel,  or  to 
be  affected  by  its  truths. 

When,  at  any  time,  the  Divine  Word  begins  to  seize 
upon  your  hearts,  what  is  it  that  excites  you  to  shake 

.  off  the  conviction?  And,  when  almost  persuaded  to  be 
Christians,  what  withholds  you  from  being  persuaded 
altogether-'  It  is  shame.  You  are  afraid  the  world  will 
temark  it;  the  world,  whose  presence  weighs  more 
with  you,  than  the  authority  of  an  invisible  Deity.  If 
you  feel  the  compunctions  of  repentance;  you  fear,  lest 
they  should  be  injputed  to  melancholy,  or  to  weakness. 
If  you  perceive  the  duty  and  importance  of  making 
salvation  your  first  care,  and  of  honouring  your  Saviour 
by  a  public  profession  of  his  name:  yet,  you  want  the 
necessary  resolution  to  encounter  the  world,  to  meet 
the  sneers  of  your  companions,  their  looks  of  suspicion, 
their  hints  of  hypocrisy,  their  presages  of  inconstancy. 
Thus,  may  every  hearer  understand  this  sentiment, 
by  recalling  to  mind  the  occasions  on  which  he  has 
felt  it,  and  on  which  it  has  checked  his  desire,  or  de- 
stroyed his  resolutions  of  duty. 

.1    II.  I  shall  farther  illustrate  it,  by  pointiug  out  some 
VOL.  I.  c^  g 


226  On  the  guilt  and  folly 

of  its  principal  causes.  These  may  be  reduced  to  the 
three  that  follow;  the  pain  of  singularity,  the  power 
of  ridicule,  the  want  of  sincerity. 

Singularity  is  always  painful  to  an  ingenuous 
mind.  It  seems  to  hold  us  out,  as  exceptions  from  the 
general  law  of  human  nature,  as  insensible  to  its  feel- 
ings, and  worthy  neither  of  the  affections,  nor  of  the 
confidence  of  mankind.  Singularity  always  attracts  the 
censure  of  the  world,  or,  by  contradicting  general  prac- 
tice, or  opinions,  it  invites  contempt.  The  public  man- 
ners have  numbers  on  their  side,  sufficient  to  brand 
with  ignominy,  whatever,  by  differing  from  them,  im- 
plies their  condemnation.  Superstition,  contraction  of 
sentiment,  weakness  of  mind,  illiberality  of"  heart,  are 
the  mildest  reproaches,  that  fashionable  dissipation  be- 
stow's  on  piety  that  dares  to  be  singular.  Wealth  and 
power,  objects  before  which  the  human  mind  is  prone 
to  bow,  being  too  often  on  the  side  of  vicious  fashion, 
give  it  great  advantage,  in  establishing  wrong  ideas  of 
honour  and  disgrace.  And,  because  the  multitude  of 
men  of  science,  like  the  vulgar  multitude,  are  frequent- 
ly in  the  same  interests,  even  philosophy  and  wit  have, 
been  pressed  into  its  service  by  these  its  obedient  sons. 
To  withstand  so  many  formidable  enemies,  is  an  ar- 
duous task,  even  for  confirmed  virtue.  Little  is  thef 
wonder  then,  if  first  resolutions,  in  religion,  should  be 
shaken  by  them;  and  if  the  young  should,  sometimes, 
not  have  fortitude  to  bear  up  against  them.  To  be  sin- 
gular in  piety,  is  to  dare  incur  contempt,  for  the  des- 
pised cross.  A  hard  sacrifice  for  human  pride,  and, 
especially,  for  juvenile  virtue!  Many  more  are  found. 


Of  being  ashamed  of  Religion.  221 

who  are  ready  to  forsake  the  Saviour,  than  who  have 
firmness  of  mind  sufficient  to  overcome  the  constraints 
of  a  false  shame.  Imperious  fashion,  both  in  conduct 
and  opinion,  will  forever  sway  the  wordly  heart.  To 
rise  above  its  influence,  requires  an  extraordinary  zeal 
m  religion,  that  seems  to  annihilate  the  temptations  of 
the  world,  or  an  established  and  respected  character  in 
piety,  that  gives  a  man  authority  over  his  own  actions. 
But,  in  the  commencement  of  a  religious  life,  and  be- 
fore a  character  in  it  hath  become  appropriated,  as  it 
were,  and  sacred,  for  a  man  to  enter  into  the  society 
of  his  companions  with  reserve;  to  go  with  it  only  a 
certain  length;  to  seem  to  enjoy  it  with  constraint;  to 
reproach  them,  by  more  severe  and  corrected  morals; 
and  to  incur  their  suspicion,  obloquy,  or  contempt,  re- 
quires uncommon  prudence,  and  uncommon  fortitude. 
How  often  does  the  dismaying  power  of  shame  sub- 
due the  heart,  before  so  many  difficulties! 

2.  Another  source  of  shame  is  found  in  the  power  of 
ridicule.  Ridicule  is  perhaps  the  severest  assault,  which 
a  man  about  to  enter  upon  duty  is  called  to  sustain.  It 
is  apt  to  dismay  and  humble  him  more,  than  the  cool- 
ness of  contempt,  or  the  violence  of  power.  So  sensi- 
ble of  its  force  are  some  infidels,  that,  with  this  weapon 
alone,  do  they  attack  Christianity,  which  they  have  so 
long  in  vain  assailed  by  reason.  It  is  a  species  of  attack 
which  every  man  can  use  against  religion;  because  all 
can  laugh,  though  few  can  reason.  It  can  be  used  against 
religion  viith  peculiar  success;  because  its  perfections 
are  often  invisible  to  sense,  or  withdrawn  from  the 
view,  while  the  imperfections  of  its  professors,  which 


228  On  the  guilt  and  folly 

are  mistaken  for  it,  are  obvious  to  every  eye.  The 
saints!  The  hypocrites!  The  weak  fools!  are  titles  that 
will  furnish  abundant  sources  of  amusement  to  those, 
who  mistake  names  for  characters,  and  laughter  for 
wit.  x\nd,  when  other  matter  fails,  uumickry,  the  low- 
est species  of  ridicule,  con>es  in,  with  a  thousand  ma- 
licious and  false  additions,  to  dress  out  the  last  scenes 
of  humble  diversion.  .The  wise  and  experienced  Chris- 
tian arrives,  at  length,  to  feel  his  superiority  over  these 
ludicrous  attacks,  but  the  young  and  inexperienced  find 
them  almost  irresistible.  They  feel  the  humiliating 
contempt  of  laughter;  they  are  degraded  in  their  own 
esteem;  ridicule  dismays  them;  a  senseless  smile  sub- 
dues their  hearts;  and,  before  a  sinful  generation,  they 
are  ashamed  of  Christ,  and  of  his  words. 

3.  In  the  consciousness  of  want  of  sincerity  we  find 
another  cause  of  that  weak  shame,  which  is  prone  to 
d(^ny,  or  to  disguise,  our  reverence  for  religion.     Pre- 
tences to  an  unsuppoited  character,  are,  in  the  highest 
degree,  dishonourable  and   reproachful.     The  world, 
that  differs  in  so  many  things  from  the  disciples  of 
Christ,  agre'es  with  them  in  condemning  visible  hypocri- 
sy.   Many  young  persons,  dreading  the  contempt  that  is 
due  to  this  character,  are  deterred  from  making  a  declar- 
ed choice  of  religion.    Conscious  that  a  conduct  grave, 
devout,  and  holy  should  accompany  the  protession  of 
piety,  and  fearing  lest  they  want  that  sincere  and  cou- 
rageous  zeal,  which  will  enable  them  to  make  such  a 
resolute   and  conspicuous  change  of  life,  as  "becomes 
the    followers  of  Christ,  they  decline  to  appear  openly 
for  his  cause.     They  are  afraid  of  discovenng  ibr  it 


Of  being  ashamed  of  Religion.  229 

that  reverence  and  attachment  which  they  really  feel, 
llest  they  should  not  be  able  to  support  the  profession 
with  uniformity  and  consistency.  Ah!  my  brethren,  if 
our  hearts  were  sincere,  the  importance  and  glory  of 
Divine  things  would  at  once  decide  our  choice,  and 
overcome  the  apprehensions  of  being  ever  willing  to 
sacrifice  them  to  worldly  interests,  or  to  worldly  plea- 
sures, to  the  solicitations  or  the  sneers  of  men.  But 
insincerity  fears  the  reproach  of  hypocrisy  more,  than 
it  fears  hypocrisy  itself;  insincerity  shrinks  from  the 
opinion  of  a  worm,  but  does  not  tremble  before  the  jus- 
tice  of  the  Creator;  insincerity  is  ashamed  of  our 
glory,  in  the  midst  of  sinners,  who  are  forever  glory- 
ing in  their  shame, 

4.  The  consideration  of  the  effects  as  well  as  the 
causesof  thisprinciple,  will  assistin  explaining  its  nature. 
One  of  the  most  certain  consequences  of  being  ashamed 
of  duty,  is,  to  lead  to  boldness  and  audacity  in  vice. 
Shame  is  perhaps  the  evidence  of  a  middle  character, 
neither  virtuous  nor  abandoned.  It  is  always  accom- 
•  panied  with  some  remaining  reverence  for  God.  But, 
judging,  from  the  licentious  face  of  the  world,  that  other 
sinners  are  not  subject  to  the  same  constraints,  it  blush- 
es for  this  sentiment,  as  for  a  weakness.  Endeavouring 
to  cover  its  belief,  or  its  fears,  it  assumes  a  greater 
show  of  infidelity,  and  licence,  than  [>erhaps  is  real. 
It  soon  affects  to  talk  in  the  stile  of  the  world;  to  di- 
vert itself  with  serious  persons,  and,  at  length,  with 
serious  things;  it  gives  hints  of  libertinism,  which  it  re- 
presents, as  superiority  to  vulgar  prejudice;  it  some- 
times pushes  these  appearances  farther  than  wouid  be 


230  On  the  guilt  and  folly 

necessary,  if  men  were  really  infidels,  to  secure  to 
themselves,  without  controversy,  that  honourable  cha- 
racter. But  conscious  insincerity  urges  them  to  ex- 
tremes, to  cover  its  own  deceptions.  And,  men  being 
prone  to  form  their  opinions,  no  less  than  to  derive 
their  feeUngs,  from  sympathy,  these  mutual  appear- 
ances contribute  to  create,  at  length,  that  vice  and  in- 
fidehty  to  which  all,  in  the  beginning,  only  pretend.  It 
is,  besides,  a  principle  of  human  nature,  that  pretence 
itself  will  ultimately  form  those  dispositions,  and  ha- 
bits, which  it  continues  to  affect. 

But,  if  shame  more  modestly  resolves,  not  to  re- 
nounce, but  to  postpone,  the  care  of  our  salvation,  is 
there  not  reason  to  fear  that  this  unhappy  resolution 
will  eventually  come  to  the  same  issue?  Need  I  repeat, 
in  this  assembly,  the  usual  fruits  of  delay?  Ah!  my 
brethren,  men  always  find  the  same  reasons  for  de- 
laying; and  those  who,  through  a  false  shame,  and  fear 
of  the  world,  postpone  their  duty,  may  usually  be  con- 
sidered, in  effect,  as  resolving  to  renounce  it.  If  con- 
science, however,  or  if  other  motives  prevail  with 
some  men,  who  are,  notwithstanding,  under  the  influ- 
ence of  a  criminal  shame,  openly  to  acknowledge  their 
Saviour,  will  it  not  often  corrupt  the  principles,  and 
pervert  the  spirit  of  religion?  They  study  to  accommo- 
date its  spirit,  and  principles,  to  the  opinions  and  man- 
ners of  the  world,  that  the  world,  seeing  nothing  in 
their  piety,  but  its  own  image,  may  cease  to  reproach 
them.  Piety  becomes,  with  them,  prudential  maxims 
of  behaviour.  The  distinguishing  doctrines  of  the  Gos- 
pel,  the  denial  of  ourselves,  the  regeneration  of  the 


Of  being  ashatned  of  Religion.  2'6l 

heart,  and  spirituality  of  life,  are  little  to  be  observed 
in  persons,  who  are  afraid  of  nothing  so  much,  as  of 
being  remarked  for  religious  singularity,  and  who  aim 
no  higher,  than  to  pay  the  same  ceremonious  respect 
to  the  church  which  they  do  to  the  world.  Lest  their 
piety  should  be  reproached  as  superstition,  they  are 
careful  perhaps  to  make  it  understood,  that  they  do  not 
place  too  high  a  value  on  the  public  institutions  of  re- 
ligion? Lest  it  should  be  derided  as  enthusiasm,  do  they 
not  banish,  from  their  devotion,  all  appearances  of 
zeal?  Lest  they  should  incur  the  imputation  of  a  narrow 
or  illiberal  mind,  do  they  not  often  run  so  far  into  the 
principles  and  manners  of  a  dissolute  age,  that  hardly 
can  you  discern  they  are  the  friends  of  religion? 

Having  thus  far  considered  what  is  implied  in  be- 
ing ashamed  of  Christ  and  of  his  words,  I  proceed, 

11.  To  show  its  folly,  and  its  guilt.  "Ofhini  also 
shall  the  Son  of  Man  be  ashamed."  The  folly  and  the 
guilt  of  this  vice  are  reciprocal.  They  mutually  contri- 
bute to  illustrate  and  aggravate  each  other. 

In  this  connection,  its  folly  deserves,  in  the  first 
place,  to  be  considered  with  the  most  serious  attention. 
It  consists,  in  being  ashamed  of  our  true  glory;  in  ho- 
ping to  avoid,  by  renouncing  religion,  an  evil  which 
cannot  be  shunned  among  men,  I  mean,  detraction  and 
ridicule;  in  fearing  an  imaginary  evil,  that  is,  reproach 
for  real  virtue  and  piety;  and  finally,  in  exposing  our- 
selves to  infinite  danger,  for  the  sake  of  covering  a 
fruitless  deception. 

1 .  It  consists,  in  the  first  place,  in  being  ashamed  of 
our  true  glory.     What  is  the  highest  glory  of  man? 


2S2  On  the  guilt  and  folly 

Whether  we  consider  ourselves  as  creatures,  as  sin- 
ners to  be  redeemed,  or  as  moral  agents,  the  most  im- 
portant lights  in  which  we  can  be  viewed,  our  glory 
and  our  duty  are  the  same;  obedience  to  the  Crea- 
tor, gratitude  to  the  Saviour,  and  conformity  to  the 
laws  of  our  nature.  If  God  is  our  Parent,  and  the  au- 
thor of  our  being,  doth  not  every  idea  of  duty,  and  of 
honour,  require  us  to  worship  him,  and  publicly  to 
claim  our  relation  to  him?  On  the  worthy  and  obedi- 
ent child  the  virtues  of  the  parent  are  reflected;  and 
every  related  object  derives  a  splendor  from  the  digni- 
ty of  the  principal.  But,  examine  all  the  things  on 
earth,  that  are  the  subjects  of  human  boasting,  and 
are  they  not,  in  his  presence,  ^*  less  than  nothing,  and 
vanity?"  '),  God!  the  universal  Father!  Origin  of  Be- 
ing! Fountain  of  Good!  in  union  to  thee,  in  conformity 
to  thine  image,  in  obedience  to  thy  will,  consists  the 
glory  of  the  rational  and  moral  nature!  To  be  ashamed 
of  thee,  is  not  the  absurdity  only,  but  the  madness  of 
human  folly! 

Gratitude  to  the  Saviour  is  the  second  duty,  and  the 
second  honour  of  man.  To  show  a  defect  of  grati- 
tude, where  it  is  justly  due,  is  a  decisive  proof  of  a 
degenerate  and  ignoble  mind.  But  the  greatness  and 
condescension  of  the  Redeemer,  the  meanness  and 
the  guilt  of  man,  concur,  in  this  case,  to  impose 
a  boundless  claim  on  our  gratitude  and  love.  Is  it 
not  our  true  glory,  my  brethren  to  feel,  with  all 
their  force,  the  infinite  obligations  created  by  redemp- 
tion? Is  it  not  our  glory,  to  acknowledge  them  with 
warmer  gratitude,  in  propoition  as  they  are  forgotten. 


Of  being  ashamed  of  Religion.  233 

or  neglected,  by  the  world?  Yes,  this  is  the  dictate  of 
a  true,  a  generous,  a  grateful,  as  well  as  pious  heart. 

Lastly,  the  honour  of  man  consists  in  fulfilling  (he 
end  of  his  being,  which  is  the  will  of  God.  But  tliis 
weak  principle,  which  makes  him  desert  his  duty, 
changes,  at  the  same  time,  and  degrades,  his  rational 
and  moi-al  nature,  and  sinks  them  from  their  original 
and  native  glory,  the  one,  to  a  resemblance  of  brutal 
natures,  the  other,  to  an  image  of  infernal  spirits.  O 
Man!  ambitious  of  glory!  afraid  of  nothing  so  nmch  as 
of  disgrace!  Unwise  and  fooHsh  man!  Thou  art 
ashamed  of  thy  glory!  and  thou  gloriest  in  thy  shame. 

The  folly  of  being  ashamed  of  our  duty  appears,  in 
the  next  place,  in  vainly  hoping  to  avoid,  by  renoun- 
cing religion,  an  evil  which  cannot  be  shunned  among 
men,  I  mean,  detraction  and  ridicule.  What  is  the 
World,  but  a  vast  theatre,  where  envy  and  malice  are 
perpetually  sharpening  the  tongues  and  the  wit  of  men 
against  each  other,^  What  is  half  the  intercourse  of 
life,  but  a  scene  of  obloquy  and  sneer,  where  the  cha- 
ract*^rs  of  the  absent  are  the  constant  sacrifice  to  the 
vanity  of  the  present.**  Where  ever  you  have  rivals,  and 
that  is,  where  ever  you  have  acquaintance  of  the  same 
sex,  or  age,  or  profession  with  yourself,  you  find  those, 
whose  weak  minds  have  no  other  means  of  exalting 
themselves,  but  by  depressing  you.  Change  then  your 
life,  you  only  change  the  subject  of  discourse.  You 
cannot  gain,  by  continuing  of  the  party  of  sinners,  what 
you  fear  to  lose,  by  embracing  the  cause  of  religion — 
their  friendship,  or  their  good  opinion.  And  why  should 
you  fear,  in  the  service  of  God  alone,  an  evil,  to  which 

VOL.   1.  H  h 


SS4  On  the  guilt  and  folly 

you  must  be  equally  or  even  more  exposed,  by  remain- 
ing in  the  interests  of  the  world?  I  say  more  exposed, 
for  it  greatly  augments  the  folly  of  this  sin. 

In  the  next  place,  that,  while  it  incurs  a  real,  it  flies 
from  an  imaginary  evil.  It  fears  reproach  for  religion, 
when,  in  reality,  the  world  has  no  reproach  to  make; 
when,  instead  of  despising,  it  respects,  the  beautiful 
and  supported  character  of  piety.  Wisdom  and  good- 
ness, rightly  understood,  can  never  be  the  objects  of  ri- 
dicule, or  censure.  They  vindicate  themselves  to  the 
judgment  and  conscience,  even  of  the  vicious.  Misre- 
presentation, to  which  an  honest  mind  should  ever  be 
superior,  is  here  the  only  ground  of  reproach.  And 
what  can,  even,  misrepresentation  alledge?  That,  in 
youth,  it  is  an  affectation  of  wisdom  and  virtue  above 
your  companions,  and  above  your  years.  Alas!  can  any 
age  be  too  early  to  be  wise,  and  to  seek  for  real  and 
durable  felicity?  If  the  multitude  of  your  companions 
afford  few  examples  of  piety,  is  it  not  the  greater  ho- 
nour to  rise  to  a  degree  of  wisdom,  rarely  attained 
even  in  mature  life;  and,  at  an  age  in  which  we  think 
it  much  if  you  learn  with  docility,  to  be  able,  already, 
to  give  an  example  worthy  of  imitation?  Will  the 
world  busy  itself  to  find  out  false  motives  for  your 
change?  Let  such  malice  serve  to  disgust  you  more 
with  a  world,  the  true  character  of  which  you  are  now 
just  beginning  to  discern.  Will  they  say,  with  a  sneer, 
"  Ah!  this  zeal  will  not  last  long!"  Let  such  insult  on- 
ly determine  your  resolution  more  firmly  to  support 
the  dignity  of  religion,  by  the  integrity  of  your  conduct, 
and  by  perseverance  in  virtue.     If  you  do  thus,  be 


Of  being  ashamed  of  Religion.  285 

assured  that  the  world  itself,  after  proving  your  since- 
rity, and  spending  its  first  resentments  upon  you,  for 
having  forsaken  its  party,  will  regard  you  with  reve- 
rence and  esteem.     It  is  not  indeed  religion,  but  in- 
sincerity,  and  hypocrisy,  they  despise.  If,  then,  you 
would  silence  obloquy,  and  obtain  an  honourable  place 
in  their  hearts,  be  not  ashamed  of  the  doctrines  of 
Christ.    But  you  must  be  careful  to  mix  with  your  re- 
ligion nothing  weak  or  supei'Stitious,  nothing  libertine 
or  worldly.     Do  not  resemble,  too  much,  the  men  of 
the  world;  it  is  their  own  image  whicii  they  despise  in 
a  Christian.     Persevere  in  the  path  of  duty.     They 
will  convert  contempt  or  hatred  into  veneration;  they 
will  applaud  your  resolution;  they  will  envy  your  des- 
tiny; and,  if  they  cannot  resemble  you,  in  their  lives, 
they  will  secretly  sigh,  that  their  end  may  be  like  yours. 
The  folly  of  this  evil  consists,  in  the  last  place,  in 
its  exposing  us  to  infinite  danger,  for  the  sake  of  cover- 
ing a  fruitless  deception.  "  Whoever  shall  be  ashamed 
of  me  and  of  my  words  (saith  the  Saviour)  of  him  also 
shall  the  Son  of  Man  be  ashamed."     Wo  to  that  man, 
of  whom  the  Son  shall  be  ashamed!  God,  when  offend- 
ed, might  be  reconciled  through  his  atonement:    but, 
when  the  Saviour  is  rejected,  there  remaineth  no  more 
sacrifice  for  sins.     Is  this  the  issue  of  being  ashamed 
of  the  Gospel?  Is  this  tlie  reward  of  that  frivolous  ho- 
noui",  which  we  would  preserve,  in  the  opinion  of  a 
corrupted  world,    by  renouncing  virtue.?    Is  this  the 
fruit  of  that  criminal  deception,  which  we  strive  to 
maintain  by  unworthy    pretences,  against  the   strug- 
gling sense  of  inward  duty.'^  Do  we  derive  from  it  even 


23()  On  the  guilt  and  folly 

present  gain,  to  make  a  momentary  compensation  for 
the  eternal  loss?  No.  Worldly  reputation  and  interest 
are,  when  rightly  considered,  in  favour  of  religion. 
But,  when  the  soul;  when  the  hopes  of  salvation,  when 
the  judgment  of  God,  are  put  in  the  balance  against  a 
slande?-,  a  sneer,  a  suspicion,  a  look  of  miserable  mor- 
tals, and  outweighed!  oh!  infinite  folly!  My  brethren, 
eternity  alone  can  disclose  it,  in  its  full  magnitude, 
when  we  shall  see,  in  the  dreadful  light  of  everlasting 
burnings,  the  vanity  of  human  opinion,  and  all  the  ter- 
rors of  that  denunciation,  "  Of  him  also  shall  the  Son 
of  Man  be  ashamed." 

Having  endeavoured,  in  few  words,  to  illustrate  the 
folly  of  being  ashamed  of  religion,  I  shall,  with  equal 
brevity,  illustrate  its  guilt.  lis  guilt  consists,  in  exalt- 
ing the  authority  of  man  above  the  glory  of  God;  in 
ingratitude  to  him,  who  was  not  ashamed  of  us;  and, 
in  promoting  vice,  by  the  pernicious  influence  of  our 
example. 

1.  In  exalting  the  authority  of  man  above  the  glory  of 
God.  His  infinite  perfection,  independently  on  his 
rights  as  our  Creator,  has  a  supreme  claim  to  our  ado- 
ration and  love.  He  is  infinitely  more  worthy,  than  any 
of  his  creatures,  of  the  lervent  and  entire  devotion  of 
our  hearts  He,  who  hath  created  the  powers  of  un- 
derstanding and  enjoyment,  is  able  to  fill  them  with 
consummate  and  eternal  consolations.  Not  to  love 
him,  therefore,  not  to  make  his  glory  predominate  over 
all  other  objects,  is  an  evidence  that  the  heart  is  blind 
to  moral  beauty,  and  corru[)ted  in  all  its  affections. 
But,  to  make  man  the  arbiter  of  our  duty  to  God;  to 


Of  being  ashamed  of  Religion.  237 

make  the  Divine  glory  stoop  to  the  pleasure,  or  opinion 
of  a  miserable  worm,  is  a  crime  beyond  expression. 
Its  malignity  is  to  be  estimated  from  the  perfection  of 
him  who  is  offended,  and,  hke  that,  it  is  infinite. 

2.  The  guih  of  this  sin  consists,  in  the  next  place, 
in  ingratitude  to  him,  who  was  not  ashamed  of  us. 
Ingratitude,  to  a  benefactor,  is  among  the  most  detest- 
ed vices.  If  the  ingratitude  of  men,  for  the  blessings  of 
salvation,  strikes  us  with  less  horror,  than  other  exam- 
ples of  this  sin,  it  is  because  we  do  not  discern,  in  the 
light  of  faith,  the  infinite  distance  between  the  Creator 
and  the  creature.  But,  when  he  descends  from  his 
eternal  throne;  when  the  incarnate  Deity  submits  to 
suffer;  when  the  Divine  glory  was  not  ashamed  of  hu- 
man weakness, — that  sinners  should  be  ashamed  of 
him!  Be  astonished,  O  Heavens,  at  this!  And  tremble, 
thou  Earth,  who  bearest  in  thy  bosom  such  guilt! 

It  has  sometimes  been  asked,  by  those  w^ho  are  not 
willing  to  make  great  sacrifices,  whether  we  may  not 
acquit  ourselves  of  duty  in  secret,  without  exposing  our 
profession  to  the  view  of  those  who  would  insult  or  de- 
ride it?  I  answer.  No.  Sincerity  glories  in  its  object. 
And,  when  God  is  the  object,  the  soul,  occupied  in  the 
blessedness  of  its  portion,  forgets,  in  a  measure,  the  ap- 
plause or  censure  of  the  world.  His  glory  will  be  a 
sufficient  portion,  when  the  world  frowns.  The  sense 
of  his  love  will  support  the  heart  agpinst  the  fear  of 
its  reproach.  Shame  to  that  worldly  prudence  that  is 
ashamed  of  its  God!  Shall  sin,  the  disgrace  of  our  na- 
ture, walk  anions;  us  with  elevated  and  impudent  fore- 
head? And  shall  religion,  the  glory  of  the  reasonable 


238  On  the  guilt  and  folly 

soul,  blush  and  retire,  lest  the  profane  eyes  of  meu, 
dazzled  with  its  beauty,  should  not  be  able  to  endure 
the  sight? 

3.  Its  guilt  consists,  in  the  last  place,  in  promoting 
vice,  by  the  pernicious  influence  of  our  example.  Ex- 
ample is  contagious;  and  the  world  becomes  more  cor- 
rupted, from  the  vice  that  is  already  in  it.  To  decline 
the  profession  of  religion,  through  false  shame,  is,  in 
some  respects,  more  injurious  to  the  interests  of  vir- 
tue in  the  world,  than  open  impiety.  This,  sometimes 
prevents  imitation,  by  a  certain  horror  at  its  enormity: 
That,  by  preserving  greater  decency,  more  effectually 
insinuates  its  poison.  Your  example  proclaims  your 
unbehef,  or  your  contempt  of  the  Gospel,  and  invites 
others  to  receive  it  with  incredulity,  or  to  treat  it  with 
scorn.  In  the  account  of  Divine  justice,  the  depravity, 
and  perhaps  the  perdition,  of  many  sinners  shall  be 
charged  to  that  criminal  shame,  which  alienates  you 
from  the  life  of  God,  and  shall  go  to  augment  your 
guilt. 

In  the  conclusion  of  this  discourse,  permit  me  tore- 
mark,  that,  although  Divine  grace  alone  can  effectual- 
ly secure  the  heart,  and  raise  it  above  the  influence  of 
a  false  and  unholy  shame,  yet,  it  will  greatly  contribute 
to  this  happy  effect,  to  have,  early  established,  just 
ideas  of  honour  and  shame,  by  a  well  directed  educa- 
tion. It  is  of  great  importance,  in  the  beginning  of 
life,  to  preoccupy  the  mind  by  good  impressions;  to 
teach  it  to  reverence  God,  before  it  has  yet  seen  the. 
beauties  of  holiness;  to  honour,  before  it  has  learned 
to  love  religion;  and  to  prepare  it  to  despise,  before  it 


Of  being  ashamed  of  Religion.  239 

has  arrived  to  detest  the  vices,  and  the  follies  of  the 
world.  It  is  of  the  greater  importance,  because  our 
habits  and  opinions  are  constantly  and  imperceptibly 
forming,  by  all  that  we  see  and  hear.  If  religion  does 
not,  early,  impart  such  as  are  rational  and  just,  the 
world  will,  necessarily,  prepossess  the  mind  with  such 
as  are  pernicious  and  false.  False  shame  will  with- 
hold it  from  the  influence  of  piety;  false  honour  will 
raise  up,  within  it,  the  most  dangerous  enemies  to  sal- 
vation. 

Let  parents  and  instructors,  therefore,  be  diligent 
to  discharge  their  duty,  with  fidelity,  to  the  rising  ge- 
neration. The  most  happy  fruits  will  reward  your  pru- 
dent and  honest  zeal.  Reflect  what  advantages  you 
enjoy,  when  you  plead  the  cause  of  piety,  against  vice, 
and  of  Heaven,  against  the  world.  What  can  be  more 
glorious,  than  the  service  of  the  King  of  kings?  What, 
more  great  and  worthy  than  virtue,  which  brings  to 
perfection  all  the  best  and  noblest  principles  of  human 
nature?  Religion  is  the  true  glory,  as  well  as  happi- 
ness of  man.  Sin  only  is  his  real  shame.  It  is  accom- 
panied, besides,  with  unspeakable  danger,  and  is  speed- 
ily tending  to  eternal  ruin. 

Suffer  me  to  extend,  a  little,  this  idea.  It  is  strong- 
ly implied  in  the  expression  of  our  Saviour,  "  of  him 
also  shall  the  Son  of  Man  be  ashamed,  when  he  cometh 
in  the  glory  of  the  Father,  with  the  holy  angels."  All 
miseries  are  included  in  this  threatening.  When  God 
condescends  to  treat  the  sinner  in  this  language  of  sar- 
castic contempt,  it  strikes  me  as  the  most  fearful  de- 
nunciation of  Divine  vengeance.     Other  threatenings 


24^0  On  the  guilt  and  folly 

seem  more  definitely  to  mark  their  penalties:  this, 
presents  nothing  distinctly  to  the  imagination;  but 
holds  up  every  thing  most  terrible  to  our  fears  Shall 
I  call  up  to  view  the  last  tribunal;  the  Heavens  on  fire; 
the  earth  shaken,  and  moved  out  of  its  place;  the  ele- 
ments melting,  with  fervent  heat,  before  the  wrath  of 
God  and  of  the  Lamb?  Sh^ll  I  speak  of  Tophet,  that 
is  ordained  of  old,  the  pile  whereof  is  fire  and  much 
wood,  and  the  breath  of  the  Lord,  as  a  stream  of  brim- 
stone, doth  kindle  it?  And  shall  I  not  say  after  all, 
that  his  most  fearful  sentence  is,  "of  him  shall  the  Son 
of  Man  be  ashamed?"  This  is  indignant  justice 
heightened  by  contempt.  The  flames  of  anger  may 
consume  the  sinner.  Shame  will  bury  him  forever, 
from  his  sight,  in  the  depths  of  misery.  What!  ba- 
nished from  thy  sight,  O  merciful  Saviour  of  men! 
This  is,  indeed,  the  blackness  of  the  everlasting  dark- 
ness! Let  those  unhappy  men,  who  are  ashamed  of 
Christ  and  of  his  words,  deeply  reflect  on  this  dread- 
ful destiny!  To  persuade  you  to  this  wise  and  neces- 
sary resolution,  is  the  whole  object  of  the  present  dis- 
course. 

May  the  Spirit  of  God  add,  to  these  instructions,  his 
own  evidence,  and  his  almighty  energy!  May  he  im- 
part to  us  a  wise  estimate  of  eternity,  and  time;  of  the 
opinions  of  men,  and  the  approbation  of  God!  And 
now,  to  the  King  eternal,  immortal,  and  invisible  be 
rendered,  through  Jesus  Christ,  all  honour,  glory,  and 
praise,  from  all  on  earth,  and  all  in  Heaven.       Amen. 


A  DISCOURSE 

ON  THE 

NATURE  AND  DANGER  OF  SMALL  FAULTS. 

Thou  shalt  not  surely  Die. — Genesis  Hi.  4. 

This  is  a  suggestion  that  arose  in  the  breast  of  the 
tnother  of  mankind,  and  encouraged  her  to  the  commis- 
sion of  a  crime,  that  hath  involved  the  whole  race  in  vice 
and  misery.  Plucking  tht  fruit  appeared,  to  her,  to  be 
among  those  actions  which  have  been  left  indifferent  by 
Wature;  and  plucking  it  trom  a  forbidden  tree,  was  pro- 
bably represented,  by  her  curiosity,  to  be  among  the 
small  and  venial  errors,  that  may  be  indulged  to  human 
weakness. 

A  like  suggestion  is  continually  rising  in  the  breasts  of 
all  her  children,  on  those  vices  to  which  they  are  strong- 
ly prompted  by  inchnation  and  by  pleasure.  Pleasure  in- 
vests vice  with  a  charm  that  deceives  the  heart;  and,  al- 
though satiety  often  strips  the  delusion  from  indulgence 
and  gives  a  momentary  force  to  the  sentiments  of  con- 
science, that  condemn  it;yet,  nature  speedily  recovers  her 
tone;  the  same  pleasures  grow  again  to  be  enjoyed,  and 
again  surround  their  objects  with  the  delusive  appear- 
ances of  pardonable  weakness,  or  of  douotlul  innocence. 
They  are  forever  repeating,  like  the  first  temptation. 
"  Thou  shalt  not  surely  die." 

VOL.  I.  1  i 


242  On  the  JVature  and  Danger 

The  call  of  pleasure  is  esteemed  the  voice  of  Nature, 
when,  by  Nature,  is  meant  only  a  factitious  depravity, 
which  hath  become  ingrafted  by  habit  in  the  constitu- 
tion. How  often  do  we  hear  it  contended,  that  a  mer- 
ciful Creator  could  not  have  connected  pleasure  with 
guilt;  but,  that  where  we  find  gratification,  we  may  fair- 
ly conclude  we  are  within  the  bounds  of  innocence?  In 
reasoning  thus,  we  forget  that  Nature,  ever  luxuriant, 
gives  birth  to  superfluities,  in  the  moral,  as  well  as  in 
the  natural  world,  designed  to  exercise  the  industry  and 
virtue  of  man,  in  correcting  or  subduing  them.  The 
rich  and  abundant  soil  of  the  human  heart  produces 
weeds,  as  well  as  better  herbs;  and  it  belongs  to  the 
husbandman  to  eradicate  the  noxious  and  to  cultivate 
the  useful.  But  men  are  forever  employing  the  most 
false  and  superficial  pretences  to  justify  their  inclina- 
tions. 

There  are,  indeed,  some  high  and  atrocious  crimes 
which  attack  the  security  of  society  and  the  happiness 
of  mankind  in  the  most  essential  points,  to  which  the 
conscience  can  seldom  give  its  sanction,  even  after  the 
longest  habits  of  sinning.  But  there  are  some  vices 
which  every  man  studies,  with  success,  to  excuse;  some 
which  he  indulges  with  less  caution  and  restraint; 
some  which  he  esteems  small  and  venial  faults,  and 
on  which  he  is  always  saying  to  himself,  "  Thou  shalt 
not  surely  die.'^ 

These  form  a  numerous  and  dangerous  class  of  of- 
fences. Highly  criminal  in  their  own  nature,  they  be- 
come the  seeds  of  greater  evil.     They  tend,  in  the  na- 


Of  Small  Faults.  24>'6 

}  tural  progress  of  habit,  to  weaken  the  power  of  con- 
science, to  render  inclination  our  supreme  law,  and  to 
change,  at  length,  the  whole  system  of  duty,  and  of 
truth. 

These  sins  will  form  the  subject  of  the  following  dis- 
course, iu  which  I  propose, 

I.  To  explain  their  nature,  and, 

II.  To  point  out  iheir  dangerous  consequences. 

I.     When  I  speak  of  small  sins,  I  do  not  compre- 
'  hend,  in  that  denomination,  those  lamented  errors  and 
imperfections,  that  spriog  from  the  infirmity  of  human 
nature,   in   the  best  of  men;   I  do   not   mean  those 
evils,  that  sometimef  surprise  a  Christian,  in  an  un- 
guarded moment,  but  which  are  speedily  resisted,  con- 
fessed, and  effaced,  by  sincere  repentance;  I  do  not 
,  mean  those,  over  which  he  is  gaining  a  slow  but  pro- 
[  gressive  victory.     1  speak  of  such  as  enter  into  the 
plan  of  life;  as  are  excused,  because  they  are  small;  as 
are  not  recollected  with  penitence,  but  are  studied  only 
to  be  justified.     They  may  be  divided  into  such  as  are 
acknowledged  to  be  sins,  such  as  are  of  a  dubious  nature, 
and  such  as  may  be  considered  chiefly  in  the  light  of 
temptations  to  other  sins. 

I.  In  the  first  place,  acknowledged  sins,  which  are, 
however,  palliated  or  excused,  from  the  miuuteness  of 
their  objects,  from  the  rarity  of  their  occasions,  and 
from  the  force  and  concurrence  of  passion  and  oppor- 
tunity. 

(1  )  Men,  if  they  cannot  be  charged  with  those  high 
and  daring  offences,  that,  by  insulting  the  majesty  of 
God.  and  disturbing  the  peace  of  society,  awaken  the 


244  On  the  JSTature  and  Danger 

indisjnation,  or  the  pity  of  the  wise  and  good,  are 
proii/  to  flatter  themselves  with  the  idea  of  coiijpara- 
tive  iniiocence.  and  to  hope,  that  the  Divine  mercy  will 
impute  their  smaller  failings  to  infirmity  and  not  to  guilt. 
Let  me  illustrate  the  observation  by  an  example.  If 
they  abstain  from  blaspheming  their  Creator,  or  from 
persecuting  and  reviling  those  who  serve  him,  they 
pardon  themselves,  as  a  trivial  offence,  their  neglect  of 
his  worship,  their  indifference  to  the  progress  of  reli- 
gion, or  their  want  of  that  inward  purity  of  heart  which 
alone  is  worthy  of  his  children,  if  they  abstain  from 
open  fraud,  it  does  not  wound  their  conscience,  per- 
haps, to  make  an  advantage  of  titeir  neighbour's  igno- 
rance, or  to  impose  on  his  undesigning  and  credulous 
simplicity.  If  they  abstain  from  violence  and  bloodshed, 
do  they  not,  however,  justify  themselves,  though  they 
hate  their  neighbour  in  their  heart,  and  rejoice  in  an 
opportunity  to  injure  his  precious  reputation,  or  to  dis- 
appoint his  lawful  hopes.^  If  they  cannot  be  accused 
of  that  mad  ambition  that  desolates  the  earth,  are  they 
not  guilty  of  the  same  vice,  though  acting  in  an  hum- 
bler sphere,  by  being  proud,  or  insolent,  or  vain.''  If 
they  are  not  chargeable  with  seducing  matrimonial 
chastity  or  virgin  innocence,  yet  do  they  not  abandon 
themselves  to  those  loose  imaginations,  to  those  soft 
and  effeminate  dalliances,  which  contain  all  the  luxury 
of  sensuality,  while  they  only  seem  to  abstain  from  the 
ultimate  crime. ^  Thus,  while  they  do  not  proceed  to 
the  last  and  highest  acts  of  vice,  they  plead,  with  suc- 
cess, an  indulgence  for  themselves,  at  the  tribunal  of 
their  own  hearts,  for  all  inferior  evils,     Thty  even 


Of  Small  Faults,  24>5 

claim  some  merit,  perhaps,  for  the  restraints  which  they 
impose  on  their  passions. 

(2.)  They  derive,  in  the  next  place,  an  extenuation 
for  particular  sins,  from  the  rarity  of  their  occasions. 
If  they  can  seldom  be  charged,  and  on  such  occasions, 
only,  as  seem  to  excuse  them,  by  the  opinion,  or  the 
practice  of  the  world,  are  they  not  prone  to  make  their 
own  apology  from  the  general  predominancy  of  a 
better  conduct.-^  Will  you  bear  me,  without  offence, 
to  produce  an  example  that  is  perhaps  too  common.^ 
Have  we  not  known  men,  who,  in  their  habits,  were 
sober,  temperate,  and  industrious;  who  notwithstand- 
ing, to  show  their  hilarity  with  a  friend,  or  to  testify 
the  sincere  part  which  they  take  in  seasons  of  public 
festivity,  would  transcend  those  limits  of  moderation 
and  sobriety,  which,  at  other  times,  they  esteem  them- 
selves bound  to  observe.-^  It  is,  in  their  view,  a  suffici- 
ent answer  to  the  remonstrances  of  religion,  tc  say,  that 
these  excesses  are  rare;  and  that,  if  the  general  tenor 
of  life  be  regular  and  prudent,  it  is  a  rigid  morality 
that  will  not  permit  us,  at  certain  seasons,  to  indulge 
scmevvhat  to  the  occasion. 

(3.)  Another  class  of  acknowledged  sins,  which  are 
held  to  be  small,  consists  of  those  that  are  extenuated 
from  the  force  and  concurrence  of  temptation.  Temp- 
tation is  passion  awakened  by  opportunity.  The  pas- 
sions Conceal  the  deformity  of  vice.  Circumstance  and 
opportunity  excite  them  into  ardour,  and  precipitate 
them  inlo  action.  Pleasure,  therefore,  that  bribes  the 
concience,  and  precipitation,  that  precludes  reflection, 
both   tend  to  lessen,   in   our  view,   the  guilt  of  sm. 


246  Oil  the  Nature  and  Danger 

And,  instead  of  penitently  confessing,  and  deploring  it 
before  God;  instead  of  condemning  it,  in  the  sentiments 
of  an  hujnble  and  contrite  heart,  too  frequently,  we  seek 
a  false  peace,  by  extenuating  its  evil.  The  strength  of 
temptation,  we  say,  the  attractions  of  pleasure,  the  co- 
incidence of  opportunity,  the  combination  of  events,  were 
too  powerful  for  human  nature,  and  we  hope  that  God 
will  look  with  indulgence  on  the  weakness  of  his  crea- 
tures. Ah!  my  brethren,  this  is  not  the  language  of 
repentance,  which  never  seeks  to  cover  or  protect 
our  sins,  but  is  disposed  ingenuously  to  acknowledge, 
and  warmly  to  condemn  them.  It  is  building  our  inward 
peace,  and  our  religious  hopes,  not  on  the  true  founda- 
tion of  the  Gospel,  but  on  the  false  ground  of  extenua- 
tion and  apology. 

2.  Another  class  of  these  sins,  that  are  considered 
as  small,  consists  of  such  actions,  as  are  of  a  dubious 
nature.  The  decision  of  the  apostle,  is  founded  in  the 
highest  reason.  lie  that  doubteth  is  condemned,  if,  un- 
der that  doubt,  he  proceeds  to  act:  Yet  such  evils  usu- 
ally leave  a  feeble  impression  of  their  guilt  on  the  con- 
science; and  men,  who  judge  thus  lightly  of  duty  and  of 
sin,  will  ever  follow  inclination,  in  contradiction  to 
their  doubts.  Under  this  principle  of  action,  it  is  easy 
to  obtain  every  gratification  that  the  heart  solicits.  The 
heart  gives  its  colouring  to  all  moral  objects.  If  it  can- 
not paint  them,  as  absolutely  innocent,  it  seldom 
fails  of  being  able  to  represent  them,  as  dubious,  at 
least,  and,  under  this  form,  to  enjoy  their  pleasures. 

That  principle  is  fdse,  that  invites  us  to  act  against 
our  doubts;  or,  that  supposes  dubiety  affords  an  equal 


Of  Small  Faults.  247 

diance  for  the  action  being  virtuous.  On  the  other 
hand,  it  necessarily  involves  guilt.  It  is  often  the  re- 
sult of  criminal  ignorance;  it  is  more  frequently  the  re- 
sult of  criminal  passion;  it  poisons  innocence  itself; 
and  it  renders  vice,  if  possible,  more  guilty,  because 
it  is  the  depravity  of  the  heart  that  creates  the  uncer- 
tainty. 

As  vice  consists  less  in  the  kind,  than  in  the  circum- 
stances and  degrees  of  action,  a  wide  and  diversified 
field  is  hereby  opened  for  self  deception.  The  gradual 
increments  of  passion  are  infinitely  minute;  the  circum- 
stances of  actions  are  infinitely  various,  and  contain  in 
them  something  peculiar  to  the  character  and  state  of 
every  person.  The  progressive  shades  of  conduct,  if  I 
may  speak  so,  are  so  delicate,  their  limits  seem  to  be  so 
blended,  as  to  afford  an  endless  scope  for  uncertainty,  es- 
pecially to  those  who  do  not  wish  to  see.  Pious  men  are 
afraid  to  approach  this  dubious  boundary.  They  deny 
themselves,  theretbre,  many  lawful  enjoyments,  that 
they  may  restrain  indulgence,  clearly,  within  the  limit 
of  innocence,  which,  when  attempted  to  be  too  nicely 
traced,  is  always  uncertain.  Vice  loves  to  lurk  in  these 
obscure  confines,  that,  in  their  uncertainty,  it  may  find 
an  excuse  for  transgressing  them;  that  it  may  enjoy  its 
beloved  pleasures,  without  suffering  the  reproaches  of 
guilt;  and  that,  wrapped  in  its  own  shades,  and  conceal- 
ed from  its  own  view,  it  may  flatter  itself  it  is  also  con- 
cealed from  the  view  of  God.  Conscience,  indeed, 
amidst  this  darkness  and  doubt,  often  raises  its  voice 
and  shakes  the  breast  with  secret  terrors:  But  they  are 
as  often  calmed,  by  the  dangerous  opinion   that  they 


248  On  the  Nature  and  Danger 

are  sins  of  only  small,  or  dubious  guilt.  Thus,  all  these 
inwaid  admonitions  perish  without  fruit,  and  the  soul 
returns  to  that  state  of  doubt,  which  it  makes  both  the 
motive,  and  the  protection  of  vice. 

3.  A  third  class,  consists  of  such  as  may  be  consi- 
dered chiefly  in  the  light  of  temptations  to  other  sins. 
Temptation,  voluntarily  indulged,  is  a  lower  degree  of 
the  vice  to  which  it  leads.  A  good  man,  who  fears  sin, 
and,  at  the  same  time,  is  conscious  of  his  own  ti-ailty, 
will  study  to  shun  its  dangers,  by  retiring  from  them. 
Those  who  cherish  the  temptation,  secretly  love  the 
vice:  Yet,  as  long  as  sin  rests  chiefly  in  the  thoughts 
and  atfections,  and  is  not  carried  into  open  act;  as  long 
as  it  can  be  considered,  rather  in  the  light  of  temp- 
tation, than  of  compliance,  men  admit,  with  diffi- 
culty, the  conviction  of  its  guilt.  It  is  viewed,  at  the 
utmost,  as  a  small  and  venial  fault,  and,  like  the  first 
temptation,  is  continually  repeating,  "  Thou  shalt  not 
surely  die." 

Under  the  idea,  that  temptation  indulged,  that  emo- 
tion and  desire,  when  not  carried  into  act,  are  not  cri- 
minal, or  are  only  small  faults;  how  often  are  those 
places  frequented,  without  caution,  the  contagion  of 
which  is  dangerous  to  virtue.'^  How  often  are  those 
societies  courted,  whose  breath  infects  the  purity  of  the 
heart .^  How  often  do  we,  deliberately,  throw  our- 
selves into  situations,  from  which  it  is  almost  impos- 
sible to  escape  without  sin.'*  Are  not  malevolent  sen- 
timents cherished,  under  the  same  idea,  against  our 
neighbour?  Is  not  the  tongue  indulged,  in  an  un- 
christian license,  to  depreciate  his  reputation.'*    Do 


Of  Small  Faults.  :249 

not  envy,  repining,  and  discontent,  secretl}'  insult  the 
providence  of  God.  or  openly  attark  the  peace  of  man- 
kind^ Doth  not  passion  exert  itself,  in  a  thousand 
unrestrained  ebullitions?  Are  not  the  sweets  of  re- 
venge tasted  in  imagination?  Are  not  loose  and  sensu- 
al scenes  enjoyed  in  fancy,  and  pictures  of  soft  and  ef- 
feminate indulgence  created,  in  all  their  variety,  and  all 
their  licentiousness?  it  is  possible,  perhaps,  to  be  more 
sensual,  in  the  continual  reveries  that  occupy  and  dis- 
sipate a  vain  imagination,  than  in  the  most  gross  and 
actual  vice.  Sensuality  appears  here  with  a  refine- 
ment, that  may  tempt  even  a  noble  mind;  and  it  is  ex- 
empted from  those  disgusts  and  disappointments,  which 
always  succeed  and  dash  those  pleasuies,  when  they  are 
grossly  enjoyed.  The  heart  abandons  itself  to  the  de- 
lightful delirium;  and  the  conscience,  httle  offended  at 
evils  that  are  not  attended  with  public  eclat,  easily  ad- 
mits their  apology.  Small  effort  is  made  to  overcome, 
or  destroy  them.  They  are  ranked  among  the  venial 
errors  and  infirmities  of  human  nature;  and,  by  de- 
grees, they  infect  and  corrupt  the  whole  soul.  This 
leads  me, 

II.  In  the  next  place,  to  point  out  the  danger  of  this 
class  of  sins.  This  danger  consists  in  their  strength- 
ening, insensibly,  the  corruption  of  the  heart,  and  in- 
creasing its  vicious  tendencies;  because  they  alienate 
from  the  heart,  the  aids  of  the  Holy  spirit;  because 
they  confirm  our  sinful  habits  and  passions;  and, 
because  the  human  mind,  in  executing,  always  falls  be- 
low its  own  purpose,  in  framing  its  plans  of  duty  and 
conduct. 

VOL.  I.  K  k 


250  On  the  Nature  and  Danger 

1.  They  alienate,  from  the  heart,  the  aids  of  the  Ho- 
ly Spirit.  The  doctrine  of  the  Holy  Spirit,  however  it 
has  been  abused  by  weak  and  enthusiastic  sects,  seems 
to  be  a  dictate  of  natural,  as  well  as  of  revealed  religion. 
In  some  secret  and  ineffable  manner, he  guards  the  heart 
against  the  power  of  temptation,  he  suggests  and  illus- 
trates our  duty,  and  often  sheds  a  peculiar  evidence  and  ^ 
persuasion  on  all  its  motives.  But,  as  his  aids  are  bestow- 
ed to  render  us  faithful,  so,  our  fidelity  is  necessary  to 
secure  their  continuance.  The  voluntary  indulgence  of 
sin,  tends  to  extinguish  his  lights.  If  he  is  resisted,  he 
withdraws;  and,  in  his  holy  Word,  there  are  many  ex- 
amples, and  many  threatenings  of  his  forsaking  those 
who  depart  from  him.  "  My  spirit  (saith  the  Lord) 
shall  not  always  strive  with  man.^  The  h  art  shall 
cease  to  feel  the  emotions  and  constraints  of  piety,  in 
proportion  as  it  persists  to  violate  the  affections  inspired 
or  the  duties  imposed  by  rehgion. 

The  Holy  Spirit  frequently  enables  a  good  man  to 
combat  the  force  of  sudden  and  unexpected  temptation, 
by  the  inward  energy  of  bivine  grace;  but  more  com- 
njonly  he  secures  his  virtue  by  disposing  him  to  shun 
its  finest  impressions.  If,  contrary  to  his  faithful  admo- 
nitions, however,  we  invite  its  dangers,  and  unneces- 
sarily expose  ourselves  to  the  influence  of  situations, 
and  of  objects  unfriendly  to  piety;  if,  for  example,  we 
enter  too  freely  those  circles,  whose  high  and  un- 
guarded gayeties  are  dubious,  at  least,  in  the  aspect 
they  have  on  piety;  if  we  amuse  ourselves  too  often  with 
writers,  whose  principles  or  manner  is  unfavourable 
to  purity  of  morals;  if  we  permit  ourselves,  through 
a  display  of  wit,  to  sport  sentiments  which  our  own 


I 


Of  Small  Faults.  251 

hearts  do  not  perfectly  approve;  if  we  voluntarily  fre- 
quent scenes,  that  are  calculated  to  inflame  the  pas- 
sions and  corrupt  the  soul:  if,  in  instances  hke  these, 
we  thwart  the  tendency  of  the  Divine  Spirit,  and  rush 
into  dangers,  against  which  he  would  mercifully  guard 
us;  if,  in  these  small  combats,  these  preludes,  as  it 
were,  to  vice,  we  resist  his  ojovements,  and  quench  his 
grace;  may  we  not  expect,  that,  in  greater  trials,  he 
should  leave  us  to  ourselves,  and  withdraw  that  holy 
influence  which  we  have  abused?  Doth  not  our  own 
experience,  my  brethren,  verify  the  threatening  of 
religion?  Are  not  our  hearts  growing  more  callous  to 
the  impressions  of  Divine  truth?  Is  not  vice  losing  its 
deformity,  and  becoming  more  practicable  to  the  heart? 
And  while,  without  reserve,  we  indulge  in  small  sins, 
is  not  the  guilt  of  great  ones  lessening  in  our  view? 
Are  not  these  the  symptoms  of  the  departure  of  the  Ho- 
ly Spirit?     This  is  the  first  danger. 

2.  The  second,  is,  that  they  strengthen  the  passions 
and  the  habits  of  vice.  The  human  mind  is  ever  in 
progression.  Dispositions  and  habits  increase  by  in- 
dulgence. Moral  principles,  in  this,  resemble  the 
growth  of  the  natural  powers.  Every  exercise  of  the 
heart  strengthens  its  tendencies.  The  indulgence  of 
small  sins  contributes  to  inflame  all  the  vicious  passions. 
Its  pleasures  excite  the  appetite,  and  at  length,  ren- 
der it  too  powerful  for  reason  and  principle.  They 
weaken  the  force  of  conscience,  which  they  have  often 
violated;  and  they  are  tending,  by  degrees,  Ut  dissolve 
the  obligations  of  duty,  which  they  have  so  often  relax- 
ed.    Each  gradation  of  vice  is  so  minute  and  imper- 


252  On  the  Kature  and  Danger 

ceptible,  that  we  are  hardly  conscious  of  our  progress; 
and,  as  exevj  indulgence  increases  the  tendency  to  gra- 
tification, it  impairs,  by  degrees,  the  power  of  reflec- 
tion, and  the  habit  of  self-command.  What,  then,  re- 
mains to  guard  the  weakness  of  the  heart?  What  is 
there,  of  sufficient  force,  to  restrain  it  from  proceeding, 
at  length,  to  every  vice  to  which  passion  may  prompt, 
and  opportunity  invite?  Yes,  my  brethren,  the  habits 
of  indulgence,  created  amidst  small  or  dubious  gratifi- 
cations, cherish  those  vehement  desires,  which  finally 
arrive  to  spurn  at  all  control. 

If,  then,  you  indulge  those  loose  and  sensual  emo- 
tions that  agitate  the  heart,  when  it  is  not  subjected  to 
habitual  restraint;  if  you  use  those  perpetual  flatteries 
to  the  sex,  or  those  doubtful  assiduities,  which  tend  to 
suspicious  attachments;  are  you  not  ultimately  in  dan- 
ger of  taking  the  most  criminal  licences?  Or,  to  give 
an  example  of  a  different  kind,  if  you  cherish  in  your 
breast,  those  emotions  of  aversion  or  contempt,  which 
are  apt  to  rise  against  others,  who  differ  froin  you  in 
interest,  in  rank,  or  in  manners;  if  you  give  yourselves 
an  incautious  liberty  in  ridicule,  or  in  satire,  and  severe 
wit;  if  you  indulge  your  tongue  in  expressions  of  disdain 
towards  those  who  have  displeased  you,  or  in  those  little 
tales  of  obloquy  and  censure,  that  are  perpetually  crea- 
ting dissentions  in  society;  will  not  your  affections,  by 
degrees,  be  alienated  from  your  brethren?  Will  not 
that  meekness  and  benevolence,  which  ought  to  charac- 
teiize  a  Christian,  be  extinguished?  Will  not  animo- 
sities grow  to  be  unforgiving  and  eternal?  In  like 
manner,  if  an  excessive  love  of  interest  hath  tempted 
you  to  little  frauds,  to  be  hard  and  overreaching  in  your 


Of  Small  Faults.  253 

contracts,  and  to  press  with  severity  on  your  neighbour's 
wants;  doth  not  the  heart,  in  time,  become  unfeehng? 
Is  it  not  preparing  to  go  to  the  extremes  of  dishonesty 
and  cruelty,  when  any  great  advantage  may  be  derived 
from  them?  If  you  attend  the  ordinances  of  religion 
with  a  careless  and  irreverent  mind;  is  not  this  the 
way,  at  length,  presumptuously  to  profane  them?  If  you 
treat  virtue  with  derision,  or  with  levity,  in  your  conver- 
sation; if  you  use  habitual  and  indecent  profanations  of 
the  Divine  name;  are  not  the  strongest  obligations  of 
piety  thereby  dissolved?  Are  you  not  in  danger  of 
mounting,  step  by  step,  to  the  extreme  of  vice,  which 
sets  at  defiance  both  the  fear  of  God,  and  the  opinion 
of  the  world? 

Besides  the  strength  and  irritation  of  the  passions, 
created  by  small  indulgencies,  sin  itself  is  gradually  di- 
minished, in  the  sense  of  its  guilt,  and  becomes  daily 
more  practicable  to  the  heart.  The  heart,  not  yet  en- 
tirely corrupted,  shrinks  from  great  crimes;  but  decoy- 
ed and  allured  on,  from  one  stage  to  another,  it  boldly 
reaches,  at  least,  a  degree  of  vice,  to  which  it  would 
once  have  looked  up,  and  trembled.  Each  minute  gra- 
dation is  familiarized,  by  repetition  and  by  habit;  and 
the  sinner,  in  his  conduct,  rests  there  perhaps,  till,  by  a 
thousand  apologies  of  self-love,  and  a  thousand  decep- 
tions of  the  passions,  offence  begins  to  wear  the  face 
of  doubtful  innocence.  The  next  superior  degrees  of 
vice  are  then  considered  as  small  sins,  and,  on  the  prin- 
ciple I  am  combating,  we  first  venture  upon  them,  and, 
finally,  learn  to  justify,  or  to  excuse  them.  Thus,  is 
the  heart  insensibly  seduced;  and  it  may  possibly  ar- 


2o4<  On  the  JS'ature  and  Danger 

rive  to  commit  the  highest  crimes,  under  the  idea  of 
their  being  only  small  offences.  Ah!  how  difficult  is  it, 
when  once  you  begin  to  say,  of  any  sin,  "  thou  shalt 
not  surely  die,"  not  to  plead  the  same  encouragenjent 
for  all?  It  is  easier,  perhaps,  to  forego  every  unlawful 
gratification,  than,  after  we  begin  to  yield,  to  set  any 
bounds  to  compliance.  Appetite,  accustomed  to  few 
indulgences,  claims  but  few,  and  can,  with  less  difficul- 
ty, resign  them  all;  but,  flattered  and  pampered,  it  soon 
becomes  impatient  of  restraint,  and,  while  it  has  power 
to  enjoy,  is  still  soliciting  for  new  pleasures. 

3.  In  the  last  place,  the  voluntary  commission  of 
small  sins  exposes  to  greater  crimes,  because  the  hu- 
man mind,  in  executing  usually  falls  below  its  own  pur- 
pose, in  resolving.  If,  therefore,  men  will  take  all  those 
criminal,  or  doubtful  freedoms,  which  they  may  deem, 
in  any  way,  compatible  with  their  general  duty;  if  they 
aim,  in  practice,  just  to  escape  great  sins;  will  they  not, 
probably,  be  permitted  to  fall  into  them.'^  The  ball, 
that  is  too  exactly  levelled  at  its  mark,  sinks  below  it. 
To  strike  it,  with  certainty,  we  must  take  a  higher  aim. 
In  like  manner,  we  must,  in  morals,  aspire  to  an  eleva- 
ted pitch  of  virtue,  we  must  aim  at  perfection;  if  we 
would  rise  even  to  that  imperfect  degree  of  goodness,  to 
which  the  pious  sometimes  attain,  in  the  present  life. 

To  those  who  observe  the  human  mind  with  care, 
this  will  appear  a  natural  effect.  She  forms  her  reso- 
lutions in  retirement,  when  the  objects  of  temptation  are 
withdrawn,  the  passions  are  subsided,  and  the  beauty 
and  importance  of  religion  appear,  in  their  proper  glory, 
to  the  eye  of  faith  and  reason:  But,  when  she  descends 


Of  Small  Faults.  255 

into  the  world,  and  applies  herself  to  carry  her  views 
into  operation,  the  vigor  with  which  she  resolved  is 
weakened,  the  livehness  of  faith  is  obscured,  amidst 
the  impressions  of  sense,  and  the  conflicts  of  passion. 
A  thousand  objects  oppose  her  purposes.  Indolence, 
interest,  pleasure,  ourselves,  mankind,  the  universe,  all 
tend  to  hinder  their  execution.  It  may  be  received  as 
a  sure  and  general  principle,  that  he,  who  voluntarily  in- 
dulges himself  in  small  faults,  will  in  the  natural  pro- 
gress of  moral  habit,  become  a  greater  sinner.  Virtue, 
indeed,  is  never  secure,  that  does  not  guard  against  du- 
bious as  well  as  against  acknowledged  vice;  nay,  that 
does  not  renounce  all  appearance  of  evil,  and  aspire 
after  hohness. 

Having  thus,  from  reason  and  experience,  explained 
the  nature,  and  the  danger  of  small  faults,  and  illustra- 
ted these  remarks,  by  many  appeals  to  our  own  feel- 
ings and  observation,  permit  me,  in  the  conclusion  of 
this  discourse,  to  urge  on  every  hearer,  as  an  object  of 
the  highest  importance,  to  remark,  with  attention,  the 
insidious  progress  of  vice,  and  to  guard,  with  diligence, 
against  its  beginnings,  and  its  first  impressions.  Small 
faults  are  the  dangerous  seeds  of  higher  sins.  And  all 
the  most  atrocious  crimes  in  human  society^  may,  or- 
dinarily, be  traced  to  these  commencements.  Vice, 
enjoyed  in  fancy,  allures  and  corrupts  the  soul.  The 
cherished  ideas  of  sensual  pleasure,  that  offer,  for 
themselves,  a  thousand  palhations  and  excuses,  be- 
tray, or  impel  it  to  actual  crimes.  Places  of  Hcence 
and  danger  frequented,  ensnare  and  enflame  it;  render 
vice,  at  first,  familiar  to  the  view,  and,  at  length,  prac- 


256  On  the  JVature  and  Danger 

ticable  to  the  heart.    Temptations,  not  resisted  in  time, 
and  banished  from  the  imagination,  acquire  too  firm  a 
hold.     Omitting,  or  precipitating  the  duties  of  religion, 
or   suffering  their  warmth   and    spirit  to  be  relaxed, 
weakens  the   sentiments  and   affections  of  piety,  and 
gives,  to  every  dangerous  and  criminal  object,  an  op- 
portunity to  impress  its  idea  with  vivacity  and  strength. 
This  is  the  artifice  of  sin.     It  betrays  insensibly.     One 
gradation  opens  the  way  to  another.     Sin  never  could 
tempt  us,  with  success,  if  all  its  deformities  were  open 
to  the  view  at  once.     But  the  gradual  and  impercepti- 
ble access  of  temptation,  offers  no  alarm  to  the  heart. 
Pleasure,   which  gilds  its  object,  justifies  compliance, 
and  throws  over  it  a  veil  of  innocence.     And,  at  each 
gradation  of  vice,  the  next  above  it  appears  as  a  small 
fault.     How  many  persons  come,  by  these  means,  free- 
ly to  indulge  in  vices,  on  which  they  would  once  have 
looked  with  aversion,   or  with  horror.^     How  many  vi- 
ces are  there,   that,  once  condemned  and  shunned,  as 
threatening  the  destruction  of  the  soul,  now  enter  into 
the  plan  of  fife,  and  are  incorporated  into  the  charac- 
ter.^    For  example,  how  often  may  habitual  intoxica- 
tion have  grown  out  of  a  convivial  humour,  imprudent- 
ly indulged^   How  often  may  a  profligate  impiety  have 
sprung,  from  the  apparently  innocent  ambition  of  plea- 
santry and  wit?  How  often  perhaps  may  conjugal  infi- 
delity, and  the  loosest  passions  have  arisen,  from  the 
smallest  of  all  vices,  an  extreme  desire  to  please.'^   Oh! 
what  pernicious  consequences  flow  from  these  apparent- 
ly inconsiderable  sources.'^  The  beginnings  of  sin  are  like 
the  letting  out  of  a  flood,  which  wears  itself  a  wider. 


Of  Small  Faults.  257 

aud  a  wider  passage,  till,  at  last,  it  deluges  the  whole 
land. 

Finally,  therefore,  let  me  urge  it  on  every  serious 
hearer  to  avoid  these  sins,  as  being  among  the  most 
dangerous,  as  well  as  insidious  enemies  of  the  soul. 
Do  you  not  perceive,  my  brethren,  what  ruinous  conse- 
quences they  bring  in  their  train '*  and  how  insensibly 
this  ruin  steals  upon  the  heart r  While  you  are  say- 
ing peace  and  safety!  then  sudden  destruction  cometh. 
While  you  are  repeating,  "  thou  shalt  not  surely  die,^' 
the  decree  of  death  issues  from  the  sovereign  and  irre- 
sistible justice  of  God.  Beware  of  small  faults;  they 
terminate  in  great  sins,  and,  eventually,  in  certain  per- 
dition. What  ever  pleasures  they  offer,  or  by  whatever 
deceptions  they  beguile  the  heart,  you  are. called,  reso- 
lutely, to  sacrifice  them  to  the  glory  of  God,  and  to  your 
own  present  peace,  and  your  eternal  salvation.  Chris- 
tians! is  this  an  arduous  labour.'^  Ijaveyou  not,  already, 
resisted  the  greatest  temptations'"  Have  you  not,  alrea- 
dy, overcome  the  greatest  sins.'*  Is  not  the  most  pain- 
ful conflicts,  already  past.^  Nothing  remains  to  you, 
one  would  think,  but  light  victories  over  an  inconsider- 
able enemy.  Engage,  therefore,  in  this  warfare,  with 
resolution  and  decision;  resolve  to  destroy  every  sin, 
the  smallest,  as  well  as  the  greatest.  If  they  are  small, 
do  not,  for  such  trivial  gratifications,  endanger  your 
eternal  hopes.  And  in  this  pious  and  noble  labour, 
cease  not,  till  you  have  rendered  the  work  of  virtue  and 
holiness  complete.  Fervently  implore  the  aid  of  the 
Holy  Spirit,  without  whose  grace  our  own  resolutions 
will  be.  ineifectual.    And,  may  the  God  of  all  mercy  and 

VOL.  I.  •  L 1 


259  On  the  Mature  and  Danger,  ^c. 

love  strengthen  our  virtue,  and  animate^  our  holy  pur- 
poses, for  Christ's  sake.     Amen. 

Mow,  to  Him,  who  is  able  to  keep  you  from  fallings 
and  to  present  you,  faultless,  before  the  presence  of 
his  glory,  with  exceeding  joy,  to  the  only  wise  God, 
our  Saviour,  be  glory  and  majesty,  dominion  and  pow- 
er, both  now,  and  forever.     Amen. 


CHARITY. 


But  the  greatest  of  these  is  charity.     1  Cor.  xiii.  13. 

The  history  of  human  greatness  is  found  almost  ex- 
clusively written  in  the  revolutions  of  empires,  and  the 
records  of  actions  which  fill  the  world  with  miseries 
and  crimes.  Religion  entering  more  truly  into  the  real 
value  of  things,  and  framing  its  estimate  according  to 
the  rule  of  the  divine  will,  would  fix  our  esteem  su- 
premely on  those  silent  virtues  of  the  heart  which, 
without  noise  or  ostentation,  tend  to  proniote  the  hap- 
piness of  mankind.  Charity,  which  is  only  another 
name  for  that  pure  benevolence  and  love  which  chief- 
ly assimilates  man  to  God,  is  the  constant  theme  of 
its  praise,  and  the  principle  which  it  lays  at  the  foun- 
dation of  all  its  duties.  The  whole  fabric  of  religion, 
.indeed,  may  be  regarded  as  the  temple  of  love;  its  al- 
tars burn  only  with  the  fires  of  a  holy  love;  and  the 
consummation  of  its  hopes  in  the  kingdom  of  heaven, 
is  but  the  perfection  of  that  spirit  of  love  which  con- 
nects all  intelligent  and  moral  natures  in  the  sweetest 
bonds  with  one  another,  and  with  God  the  centre  of 
their  common  union.  This  is  that  heavenly  principle 
in  the  heart  of  a  good  man,  which  the  apostle,  in  this 
chapter,  exalts  above  all  intellectual  attainments,  above 
all  the  external  rites  and  offices  of  religion,  and  even 
above  all  other  graces  and  virtues  of  the  heart. 


^^0  On  Chanty. 

Let  me,  then,  on  this  occasion,  christians,  turn  your 
pious  meditations  for  a  moment,  on  the  nature  and 
the  excellence,  of  the  grace  of  charity;  and  endeavour 
to  awaken  your  pious  zeal  to  fulfil  its  duties. 

The  subject,  indeed,  is  so  trite  that  it  hardly  affords, 
in  a  christian  assembly,  any  novelty  of  thought  to  in- 
terest your  sympathies;  but  its  utility,  and  its  benign 
aspect  on  the  happiness  of  society,  will  speak  for  me 
in  the  goodness  of  your  own  hearts,  and  procure  an  in- 
dulgent ear  to  the  repetition  of  the  most  common 
truths. 

Charity,  in  its  original  and  most  extended  meaning, 
embraces  in  one  vvord,  the  whole  moral  law  of  the  gos- 
pel;— tliou  shalt  love  the   Lord  thy  God  ivith  all  thy 
heart,  ivith  all  thy  soul,  with  all  thy  strength,  and  with 
all  thy  mind;  and  thou  shalt  love  thy  neighbour  as  thy- 
self.    But  because  in  the   moral  order  of  the  world, 
much  the  most  numerous  class  of  our  active  duties 
terminate  directly  on  our  fellow  men,  the  sacred  wri- 
ter has  described  this  grace  chiefly  by  its  effects  on 
our  social  relations.    The  term,  however,  has,  by  time 
and  custom,  received,  in  common  usage,  a  more  Hmi- 
ted  application,  to  a  part  only,  though  a  most  impor- 
tant part,  of  those  social  duties, — the  assistance,  and 
comfort  of  the  most  destitute  and  afflicted  portion  of 
our  species, — provision  for  their  wants,  consolation 
for  their  sufferings,  and  that  benevolent  care  of  their 
instruction  in  the  elements  of  christian  knowledge, 
which  will  preserve  them  from  the  fatal  temptations 
of  vice,  naturally  resulting  out  of  their  unhappy  condi- 
tion, and  restore  them  to  some  consciousness  of  the 


On  Charity.  261 

dignity  of  their  immortal  nature. To  this  limited 

idea  of  christian  charity,  the  present  occasion  invites 
us,  in  a  great  measure,  to  confine  our  views.  And  a 
noble  and  godlike  virtue  it  is,  to  take  the  poor  and  the 
distressed,  and  especially,  the  helpless  widov^^  and  for- 
saken orphan  under  its  protection.  Or  rather,  should 
I  not  call  it,  a  heavenly  grace?  For,  till  the  system  of 
grace  and  mercy  was  revealed  from  heaven,  and  its 
spirit  had  descended  into  the  hearts  of  men,  had  the 
world  ever  witnessed  such  charitable  cares,  such  bene- 
volent institutions,  as  have  grown  up  since  that  period^ 
for  the  comfort  of  the  desolate  children  of  sorrow. 

Let  me  intreat  you,  therefore,  christians!  disciples  of 
the  merciful  Redeemer,  to  lend  me  your  patient  and 
candid  attention,  while  I  unfold,  a  little  more  in  detail, 
some  of  the  most  obvious  characters  of  this  grace. — 
It  is  universal  in  its  objects; — most  pure  and  benevo- 
lent in  its  designs; — and  in  all  its  actions  most  benefi- 
cent. 

i.  This  genuine  philanthropy  diffuses  its  benevolent 
regards,  and,  within  the  compass  of  its  means  and  op- 
portunities, its  benevolent  deeds,  to  the  whole  hunjan 
race.  No  rank  or  condition  of  men,  no  sect,  or  name 
of  religion  excludes  them  from  its  kindness  and  pro- 
tection. "  I  am  a  man,  said  a  virtuous  heathen,  and 
nothing  that  concerns  human  nature  can  be  indifferent 
to  me."  There  brofke  forth  a  sentiment  not  unworthy 
a  disciple  of  Jesus  Christ.  A  sentiment  springing  out 
of  that  felicity  of  nature  which  we  sometimes  see  dis- 
closing itself  beneath  the  darkness  of  paganism;  but 
which,  cultivated  by  the  grace  of  the  gospel,  exalts 


262  On  Chanty. 

man  to  the  perfection  of  his  being.  Such  a  man, 
surrounded  by  the  spectacles,  and  assailed  by  the  claims 
of  human  misery,  is  ever  prone  to  forget  hitnself,  ab- 
sorbed in  the  emotions  of  his  own  benevolence.  Health, 
fortune,  talents  are  to  him  only  so  many  precious  means 
of  doing  good.  To  the  destitute  he  becomes  a  pro- 
tector, to  the  oppressed  a  defender,  to  the  orphan  a  fa- 
ther, to  the  wretched  a  comforter.  Even  the  miseries 
of  vice,  if  it  may  yet  be  reclaimed,  find  in  him,  as  in 
the  Deity,  a  Saviour.  All  the  distinctions  which  sub- 
sist among  mankind  are  sunk  in  the  common  relations 
of  humanity: — for  all  are  of  one  flesh;  the  equal  off- 
spriiig  of  God. 

2.  But  the  true  nature  of  this  grace  appears,  in  the 
next  place,  in  the  sincerity  of  its  affections,  and  the  pu- 
rity of  its  aims. 

Let  MS  not  love  in  word  and  in  tongue,  saith  St. 
John,  but  in  deed  and  in  truth.  What  doth  it  profit, 
saith  another  apostle,  though  a  man  say  to  his  poor 
brethren,  be  ye  warmed,  and  be  ye  filled,  notwithstanding 
ye  give  them  not  those  things  that  be  needful  for  the  bo- 
dy?— Men  may  sometimes  speak  well,  or  even  declaim 
eloquently,  on  the  virtue  which  they  do  not  practise: 
And  charity,  alas!  has  often  flourished  in  good  words 
and  wishes,  while  it  has  been  starved  and  barren  in 
good  deeds. 

Not  frequently,  hkewise,  have  the  most  liberal  alms 
lost  their  acceptance  wiih  God,  by  the  impurity  of  their 
aims,  or  the  corruption  of  the  source  from  which  they 
flowed.  Vanity  has  fed  the  hungry,  and  clothed  the 
naked.     Ostentation  has  reared  uia^niflcent  hospitals: 


On  Charity.  268 

and  still  more  strange,  the  most  splendid  acts  of  mu- 
nificence have  sometimes,  been  merely  a  shameful 
commutation  for  crimes? — What  then,  is  the  genuine 
principle,  and  the  standard  of  christian  charity?  Hear 
it  from  tiie  mouth  of  the  Divine  lawgiver  himself; — 
Thou  shall  love  thy  neighbour  as  thyself.  In  doing  your 
alms  let  only  the  pure  impulses  of  a  benevolent  mind 
prompt  your  hands  and  your  hearts.  No  calculations  of 
interest  or  of  vanity  ought  in  this  holy  service,  to  sway 
you:  for  thy  left  hand  shall  not  know  what  thy  right  hand 
doth.  And  whatsoever  you  would  that  men  should  do  to 
you,  do  ye  even  so  to  them.  Behold  the  equity  of  the  gos- 
pel! It  makes  your  self-love  the  measure  of  your  charity 
to  your  fellow  men. — In  imagination  transfer  the  feel- 
ings of  the  afflicted,  the  miserable,  the  dependent,  to 
your  own  bosom,  and  whatever  your  consciousness  that 
the  claims  of  humanity,  in  your  case  would  demand,  in 
those  claims,  my  beloved  christian  brother,  read  the 
benevolent  law  of  your  Saviour.  Oh!  merciful  Saviour! 
if  thy  disciples  always  drunk  deep  of  this  divine  spirit, 
would  the  children  of  wretchedness  and  poverty  so  of- 
ten have  cause  to  mourn  that  they  were  despised  and 
forgotten  by  their  happier  brethren?  would  modest  but 
unfortunate  merit  be  so  often  comprlled  to  retire  from 
the  eye  of  contemptuous  wealth?  Would  Lazarus  so 
often  beg  in  vain  for  the  fragments  which  daily  fall 
from  the  table  of  purpled  luxury?  W^ould  the  peni- 
tent Magdalen  be  rejected,  and  her  returning  virtue  be 
discouraged  by  reminding  her,  like  the  unfeeling  Pha- 
risee, that  she  had  been  a  sinner.  Would  even  the 
miserable  offspring  of  idleness  and  vice  be  cast  away 


264  On  Chanty, 

like  a  polluted  thing  from  the  pure  bosom  of  charity, 
when  they  are  not  yet  so  far  lost^  but  that  they  might 
be  redeemed  to  society  and  to  God? 

Blessed  Saviour!  thy  most  benevolent  example  has 
taught,  what  thy  precepts  have  enjoined,  ever  to  culti- 
vate a  tender  sympathy  with  the  suiferings  of  our  fel- 
low men; — to  cover,  with  the  mantle  of  love  their  im- 
perfections;— to  console  the  mourning; — to  raise  the 
afflicted  from  the  dust; — to  embrace  in  the  arms  of 
our  christian  affection,  the  most  necessitous,  and 
wretche  J  of  mankind,  who,  notwithstanding  their  mul- 
tiplied miseries,  are  still  our  brethren.  Be  such  the 
purity  and  sincerity  of  those  holy  affections  in  which 
you  are  required  chiefly  to  imitate  Jesus  Christ,  your 
Lord,  who  deigns  also,  to  be  called  your  Elder  Brother. 
— Let  love  be  ivithout  dissimulation.  JVot  only  rejoice 
with  those  that  do  rejoice;  but,  as  still  more  becoming 
the  lot  of  human  nature,  and  the  disciples  of  him  who, 
for  our  sakes,  became  a  man  ofsorroivs,  and  acquainted 
with  s^rief,  weep  with  those  who  weep. 

Finally,  true  charity  is  distinguished  by  that  active 
beneficence  which  is  employed  in  doing  good.  If  it 
rests  in  those  instinctive  emotions  of  sympathy  which 
are  the  involuntary  impulses  of  huaian  nature  on  see- 
ing an  object  in  distress; — if  it  goes  no  farther  than  in- 
active wishes,  and  barren  prayers,  this  is  the  mocke- 
ry of  virtue.  Christian  benevolence  is  ever  operative, 
studying  in  proportion  to  its  means,  and  often  beyond 
its  immediate  means,  to  diffuse  its  blessings  to  that  por- 
tion of  human  nature  that  is  within  its  reach.  What 
a  noble  and  dehghtful  employment! — to  enter  into  the 


On  Charity.  265 

i  plans  of  the  Father  of  mercies!  To  dry  the  tears  of  the 
afflicted!  To  turn  into  acts  of  praise  the  sighs  of  the 
disconsolate!  To  pour  a  refreshing  balm  into  the 
wounded  spirit!  to  be  like  the  angel  of  God  to  the  wi- 
daw  and  the  orphan!  Blessed  is  the  lot  of  those  whose 
riches  are  neither  hoarded  with  niggard  selfishness, 
nor  scattered  in  an  ostentatious  and  effeminating  lux- 
ury, but,  llowing,  like  a  beneficent  Providence,  with 
diffusive  munificence,  carry  along  with  them  the  streams 
of  happiness  throughout  society. 

But,  christian  brethren,  is  great  wealth  always  ne- 
cessary to  fulfil  the  duties  of  charity?  May  not  medi- 
ocrity redeem  from  so  many  factitious  wants,  from  so 
many  useless  gratifications  of  vanity  the  funds  for  doing 
good?  Nay,  will  not  benevolence  find  its  resources 
in  the  very  bosom  of  poverty?  If  it  has  not  gold  and 
silver  to  bestow,  has  it  not  its  sympathies,  its  assiduities, 
its  thousand  nameless  services,  which  are  often  more 
precious  than  silver  or  gold? 

Chanty  is  a  habit  of  the  soul,  always  in  action;  per- 
petually alive  to  whatever  affects  the  comfort  and  hap- 
piness of  human  nature.  Every  event  in  Providence 
it  connects  with  some  benevolent  emotion  of  the  heart; 
congratulating  with  the  happy,  sympathizing  with  the 
distressed.  Is  the  cold  piercing?  Is  the  atmosphere 
filled  with  contagion?  It  sheds  a  tear  over  the  mise- 
ries of  the  poor.  It  devises  the  means  of  their  relief. 
Does  the  storm  rage?  -It  sends  to  heaven  its  prayers 
for  the  houseless  child  of  want,  for  the  desolate  travel- 
ler, or  the  perishing  mariner. — Charity  feels  for  every 
mortal.     As  it  has  opportunity,  it  does  good  to  every 

VOL.  1.  Mm 


266  On  Charity. 

creature.     It  carries  in  its  bosom,  if  I  may  speak  so, 
the  human  race. 

II.  Christians!  I  have  spoken  to  you  of  the  nature 
of  charity:  hsten,  if  you  please,  in  the  next  place,  to  a 
few  reflections  on  the  excellence  of  this  grace. 

In  its  most  extended  view  it  is  the  principal  end  of 
all  the  instructions  of  the  holy  scriptures;  it  forms  the 
most  distinguishing  character  of  the  Redeemer  of  the 
vrorld;  it  is  the  band  of  the  moral  union  of  the  universe; 
it  is  the  supreme  source  of  the  felicity  of  heaven.  And, 
in  the  more  limited  view  I  am  now  taking  of  it,  all 
these  considerations  concur  to  form  the  most  endear- 
ing union  of  the  believer  with  his  fellow  christians. 

Thi'oughout  the  sacred  writing  you  perceive  it  every 
where  inculcated  with  the  most  affecting  and  persua- 
sive eloquence.  It  is  the  scope  of  all  their  histories, 
their  laws,  their  moral  maxims,  their  divine  songs,  their 
ritual  institutions.  The  whole  force  of  the  Spirit  of 
inspiration  seems  employed  to  kindle  and  cherish  this 
holy  fire  in  the  bosoms  of  the  faithful.  One  would 
think  that  the  sole  end  of  the  incarnation  and  ministry 
of  the  Saviour,  besides  making  atonement  for  the  sins 
of  mankind,  and  bringing  life  and  immortality  to  light, 
to  the  miserable  heirs  of  death,  was  to  announce  and 
reiterate  to  them  these  two  commandments; — Love 
God,  your  Creator  and  Redeemer — and  love  your  fel- 
low men,  ivho  are  your  brethren.  He  who  could  have 
unfolded  all  the  mysteries  of  nature,  He  who  could 
have  laid  open  the  secret  and  infinite  chain  of  causes 
and  effects  in  the  universe,  has  limited  his  instructions 
only  to  forming  good  men.     Instead  of  gratifying  the 


On  Charity.  267 

vanity  of  science,  his  doctrine  is  designed  to  be  the 
consolation  of  humanity — to  unite  mankind  in  one  har- 
monious body  in  him  who  is  the  Head, — and  to  con- 
nect heaven  with  earth  by  the  holy  ties  of  beneficence 
and  love. 

If  our  blessed  Saviour  has  given  such  importance  to 
this  principle  in  his  divine  instructions,  with  infinitely 
more  beauty  and  force  has  he  recommended  it  in  his 
most  holy  example. 

If  the  works  which  he  effected  for  our  redemption 
are  too  sublime  for  the  imitation  of  mortals,  behold  him 
in  his  humanity,  and  in  the  whole  course  of  his  bene- 
ficent life,  the  amiable  pattern  of  our  virtue.  It  was 
one  illustrious  scene  of  benevolence.  He  went  about, 
saith  the  sacred  writer,  doing  good.  When  the  Holy 
Spirit,  who  speaks  in  the  Evangelist,  would  bestow  on 
him  the  highest  eulogy,  he  does  it  not  in  the  pomp  of 
artificial  eloquence,  so  often  eaiployed  to  impose  on 
the  imagination,  and  mislead  reason; — but  in  two  sim- 
ple words,  doing  good.  Oh!  virtue  most  worthy  of  the 
Son  of  God! — It  is  also,  as  I  have  said,  the  blessed 
bond  of  the  moral  union  of  the  universe.  Descending 
from  God  through  all  pure  and  intelligent  natures,  and 
returned  from  them  to  him  in  devout  affection,  it  em- 
braces and  binds  together  the  whole  in  the  most  de- 
lightful and  harmonious  ties.  When  God  would  re- 
unite the  universe  to  himself,  and  connect  in  one  holy 
family  the  whole  brotherhood  of  mankind,  he  sent  forth 
upon  earth  the  spirit  of  charity  in  his  own  Son.  A 
mutual  and  immortal  charity  forms  the  perfect  state  of 
all  holy  minds.    It  was  the  glory  of  Paradise. — And 


■268  On  Chanty. 

it  is  the  state  to  which  the  gospel  is  tending,  through 
the  power  and  grace  of  the  Redeemer,  to  restore  our 
imperfect  nature  in  the  everlasting  kingdom  of  the 
just. 

Love  is  the  true  principle  of  the  happiness  of  hea- 
ven,— that  love  which  unites  all  holy  and  intelligent 
natures  to  God,  the  centre  of  their  being,  and  unites 
them  to  one  another  in  him.  It  is  for  this  end  in  order 
to  strengthen  the  root  and  habit  of  this  heavenly  affec- 
tion, and  to  prepare  its  perfection,  that  we  are  placed 
under  the  present  disciplhie  of  charity,  if  I  may  call  it 
so,  in  his  church  and  kingdom  upon  earth.  Great 
part,  without  doubt,  of  the  felicity,  as  well  as  of  the 
employment  of  the  celestial  state,  where  God  unveils 
the  immediate  splendors  of  his  throne,  shall  consist  in 
high  and  rapturous  acts  of  devotion.  But  even  the 
immortal  powers  of  the  saints  made  perfect  in  glory, 
will  not  be  able  to  sustain  an  eternal  ecstasy:  nature 
will  alternately  require  more  gentle  movements,  and 
those  softer  pleasures  which  will  be  found  in  the  de- 
lightful exercise  of  all  the  heavenly  charities.  j 

To  recapitulate  these  ideas  in  a  single  sentence. 
The  principal  end  of  the  Creator  in  forming  this  sys- 
tem seems  to  have  been  the  happiness  of  man:  or,  if 
we  would  rather  say  his  own  glory,  his  glory  consists 
in  the  happiness  of  the  creatures  he  has  made.  That 
happiness  is  placed  chiefly  in  the  exercise  of  a  mutual 
and  universal  charity.  To  teach  the  law  of  charity,  the 
Son  of  God  descended  from  heaven.  Charity  is  the 
scope  of  all  the  instructions,  the  institutions,  the  exam- 
ples of  the  holy  scriptures.     Charity  is  the  image  of 


On  Chanty.  269 

God,  the  glory  of  the  Redeemer,  the  moral  bond  of  the 
universe,  the  supreme  source  of  the  fehcity  of  heaven. 
M)w,  therefore,  abide  these  three,  faith,  hope,  charity; 
hut  the  greatest  of  these  is  charity.     Faith  embraces 
the  gospel  as  the  word  of  God,  the  rule  of  life,  and  the 
foundation  of  hope;  charity  is  its  spirit,  and  its  sum. 
Hope  discloses  to  the  believer  the  motives  of  obedience, 
in  the  immortal  rewards  of  piety  and  duty;  of  which 
charity  is  the  essence  and  the  sum.     And  in  heaven 
the  perfection  of  charity  shall  form  its  own  eternal  re- 
ward.    Faith  shall  cease,  being  lost  in  vision.     Hope 
shall  be   consummated,   being  realized  in  possession. 
But  charity,  but  love  shall  exist  forever.     In  the  pre- 
sence of  the  Eternal  King,  commencing  a  new  career, 
freed  from  all  obstruction  and  imperfection,  it  shall  con- 
tinually advance  our  nature  nearer  to  the  perfection 
and   felicity   of  the  Supreme   and  all  perfect  mind. 
Many  reflections  will  naturally  have  suggested  them- 
selves to  a  christian  assembly  from  the  preceding  prin- 
ciples and  illustrations.     A  very  few  only  I  can  select 
for  your  reconsideration.     Among  the  first,  a  devout 
■disciple  of  Christ,  can  hardly  fail  to  recognize  with 
holy  joy  the  character  of  the  living  and  true  God  whom 
we  adore,  w^hose  nature  is  love.     With  what  divine 
superiority  does   the  gospel  exhibit  him  who  is  the 
source  of  all  being,  above  the  multiplied  shapes  of  er- 
ror which  bewildered  and  disgraced  the  reason  of  the 
blinded   nations  before   the   advent  of  the   Saviour. 
Among  all  the  phantoms  which  superstition  has  ever 
offered  to  the  veneration  of  mankind,  can  any   resem- 
blance be  found  to  him  who  places  his  glory  in  the  fe- 


270  (hi  Chanty. 

licityofthe  universe  which  he  has  created?  Where 
superstition  and  vice,  for  they  always  go  together,  main*- 
tain  their  blind  dominion,  we  behold  ignorance  and 
cruelty  trembling  before  the  bloody  altars  of  Moloch, 
or  sensuality  rioting  in  the  groves  of  Syrian  pollution. 
Shows,  festivals,  and  fantastic  rites  are  substituted  in 
the  room  of  those  virtues  of  the  heart,  and  that  divine 
love  which  alone  should  reign  in  the  temples  of  the 
Eternal.  Merciful  Redeemer!  who  has  taught  thy  dis- 
ciples to  love  one  another,  endue  us  richly  with  that 
spirit  of  charity  which  is  thine  image,  the  distinction, 
and  glory  of  thy  most  blessed  gospel!  That  interesting 
discourse,  out  of  which  my  text  is  taken,  proposes  to 
us,  in  the  next  place  the  truest  estimate  of  the  respec- 
tive value  of  religious  principles.  Speculative  truth 
has,  undoubtedly,  its  importance;  the  rites  and  ceremo- 
nials of  religion,  which  give  it  its  visible  form  and  body, 
are  not  without  their  price;  but  that  which  is  most  es- 
sential to  the  spirit  of  the  gospel  is  its  tendency  to  pro- 
mote the  happiness  of  mankind.  The  true  test  of  piety 
is  its  good  works, — its  imitating  the  benevolent  labors, 
the  munificent  pattern  of  the  great  Teacher  and  Exam- 
ple of  all  virtue.  What  was  the  life  of  Jesus  Christ  but 
a  constant  exemplification  of  that  active  beneficence  to 
the  bodies  and  the  souls  of  men,  which  should  form 
the  honorable  distinction  of  all  his  disciples?  What 
was  the  whole  scope  of  his  discourses,  but  to  teach  men 
to  do  justly,  to  love  mercy,  and  to  walk  humbly  with 
God?  On  what  shall  turn  his  decisions  in  the  last 
judgQient,  when  seated  on  thethroneof  eternal  justice, 
the  destinies  of  the  universe  shall  proceed  from  his  lips? 


On  Chanty.  271 

I  was  hungry  and  ye  gave  me  meat;  I  loas  thirsty  and  ye 
gave  me  drink;  naked  and  ye  clothed  me;  a  strajiger  ai\d 
ye  took  me  in;  sick,  and  in  prison,  and  ye  came  unto  me. 
And  how  does  he  himself  interpret  the  spirit  of  this 
divine  sentence?  In  as  much  as  ye  have  done  it  unto  one 
of  the  least  of  tliese,  ye  have  done  it  unto  me.  0,  Al- 
mighty and  most  gracious  Saviour!  what  thanks  and 
praise  do  we  not  owe  thy  condescension  and  grace, 
who  hast  so  identified  the  humhle  children  of  poverty 
and  affliction  with  thyself,  as  to  make  our  charitable 
cares  for  them,  the  test  of  our  obedience,  and  the  mea- 
sure of  our  final  rewards  from  thee! 

In  the  remaining  portion  of  this  discourse,  let  us, 
my  christian  brethren,  turn  our  attention  more  directly  on 
those  objects  of  our  benevolence,  which  have  so  deeply 
engaged  the  efforts  of  this  amiable  association,  at  whose 
request  the  present  assembly  has  been  convened.  And, 
on  this  subject,  I  have  the  pleasure  of  believing  that 
no  prejudices  arising  from  diversity  of  opinion,  either 
on  religion,  or  on  poHticks,  can  be  suffered  to  enter 
this  temple  of  charity,  to  obstruct  the  free  current  of 
your  benevolent  emotions.  Here  humanitj^-  alone  pleads 
for  her  afflicted  children. 

The  unprotected  widow,  and  the  helpless  orphan, 
present  themselves  before  you,  to  solicit  your  alms,  at  . 
the  commencement  of  a  season  always  filled  to  them 
with  peculiar  distress.  They  have  no  language  in 
which  to  express  their  own  griefs.  And  they  offer 
themselves  to  you  this  evening,  through  the  medium  of 
this  benevolent  society,  the  exquisite  sensibilityof  whose 
sex  has  taught  them  to  feel,  and  the  sympathy  of  whose 


212  On  Charity. 

pious  hearts  has  carried  them  into  the  thousand  retreats 
of  female  suffering  in  this  city,  to  collect  the  simple 
and  unaffected  details  which  they  here  present  to  your 
charity,  for  the  love  of  God.  They  lift,  for  a  moment, 
before  your  eyes,  the  veil  that  covers  the  scenes  of 
sorrow  which  every  where  surround  you.  Ah!  could 
you  enter  into  the  innumerable  receptacles  of  penury 
and  want,  and  personally  witness  the  infirmities  of  age, 
and  the  emaciated  forms  of  weakness  and  disease,  des- 
titute of  every  con}fort  which  sick  and  exhausted  na- 
ture requires,  pouring  their  disconsolate  sighs  to  Hea- 
ven, w'hile  they  seem  forsaken  of  every  human  aid, 
could  you,  amiable  children  of  affluence  and  ease!  could 
you  restrain  the  synipathy  of  your  tears,  and  the  mu- 
nificence of  your  charitable  hands.^ 

If,  to  the  other  distresses  of  abject  penury  there  be 
added,  what  often  happens,  a  family  of  helpless  chil- 
dren weeping  round  a  disconsolate  mother;  who  has 
no  means  of  relieving  their  painful  necessities;  let  the 
heart  of  a  mother  picture  to  itself  the  deep  anguish  of 
her  soul!  They  ask  for  food,  but  she  has  only  her 
tears  to  give  them ;  they  cry  for  a  garment  to  cover  them 
from  the  piercing  cold;  she  can  answer  only  with  her 
groans;  tortured  with  their  incessant  importunities,  she 
can  only  weep  with  them,  looking  to  Heaven,  and  to  you. 
If,  from  the  precarious  supplies  of  charity,  she  can  glean 
a  scanty  pittance  for  the  most  pressing  wants  of  the 
present  day,  alas!  how  often  does  she  know  not  where 
to  find  her  next  meal,  or  the  next  fragment  of  wood  to 
light  and  to  warm  her  hearth!  How  many,  alas!  strug- 
gling in  the  extremities  of  want,  do  I  seem  to  see,  like 


On  Charittj.  373 

the  poor  widow  of  Zarephath,  addressing  the  prophet 
Elijuli;  As  the  Lord  thy  God  livelh  I  have  but  a  hand- 
ful of  meal  in  a  barrel,  and  a  little  oil  in  a  cruise,  and 
behold  I  am  2;atherin<j;  two  sticks,  that  I  may  go  in  and 
dress  it  for  me  and  my  son,  that  we  may  eat  it  and  die. 
Then  surveying  the  melancholy  scene  around  her,  and 
anticipating  the  still  more  melancholy  prospects  before 
her,  her  full  heart  is  ready  to  burst.  And,  indeed,  she 
must  sink  down  overwhelmed  with  her  sorrows,  if  your 
charity  do  not  come  in,  like  the  heaven-directed  pro- 
phet of  God,  to  restore  life  to  her  and  her  children. 
Christians,  these  are  not  pictures  presented  from  a 
too  ardent  fancy.  Those  whose  benevolence  prompts 
them,  and  whose  activity  and  leisure  enable  them  per- 
sonally to  examine  these  abodes  of  affliction,  often  have 
their  feelings  harrowed  up  by  scenes' that  the  benevolent 
heart  hardly  dares  to  contemplate,  and  that  language  is 
too  feeble  to  express.  In  its  anxiety  to  relieve  only  the 
most  urgent  wants,  which  continually  press  on  the  be- 
nevolence of  this  society,  it  is,  alas!  constrained  to  suf- 
fer all  the  anguish  of  an  impotent  charity.  Oh!  could 
the  delicacy  of  those  amiable  females  who  shine  before 
me  in  all  the  elegance  of  taste  and  wealth,  consent,  not 
to  take  these  representations  from  my  lips,  but,  fbrsa- 
kins:  for  a  moment  the  chambers  of  ease,  to  look  into 
these  receptacles  of  human  misery,  what  new  views  of 
life  would  arrest  your  feeling  hearts!  What  new  im- 
pulses would  be  given  to  your  christian  chanty,  alrea- 
dy so  conspicuous?  But  another  class  of  female  suf- 
ferers, permit  me  to  bring  forward  to  your  attention, 
christians!  not  less  to  be  pitied  perhaps,  though  they 

VOL.  I.  !V  n 


214,  On  Charity. 

do  not  offer  to  the  eye  such  obvious  spectacles  of  dis- 
tress. They  have  once  been  more  happy,  and  their 
timid  dehcacy,  M^hich  shrinks  from  contempt,  and  per- 
haps, some  proud  remembrance  of  the  past,  long  re- 
strain them  from  revealing  their  necessities;  as  long  as 
they  are  able  to  support  their  sufferings,  they  devour 
their  tears  in  secret.  Their  griefs,  which  they  cannot 
resolve  to  disclose,  consume  their  spirits  and  their 
health;  and  it  is  only  the  wan  and  anxious  countenance 
of  wo,  that  betrays  to  the  discerning  eye  those  cruel 
wants  which  they  have  long  endeavoured  to  conceal 
from  the  world.  Do  you,  whose  feeling  hearts  under- 
stand the  modesty  and  delicacies  of  an  amiable  woman, 
pity  the  deep  and  covered  griefs  that  often  fatally  prey 
upon  the  finest  sensibilities  of  human  nature. 

But  the  highly  meritorious  and  benevolent  association 
who  apply  this  evening  to  your  charity,  have,  for  their 
objects,  not  only  the  comfort  of  distressed  widows,  suf- 
fering under  accumulated  afflictions,  but  the  protection, 
nourishment,  and  moral  culture  of  destitute  orphans. 
And  christians!  what  can  be  more  worthy  the  disciples 
of  Jesus  Christ,  who  is  himself  the  example  of  all  mer- 
cy and  grace,  than  to  rescue  from  misery  and  vice,  and 
to  restore  to  society  and  virtue,  those  helpless  infants 
who  have  no  parent,  no  friend  but  God  and  you. 

And  for  them  we  dare  to  solicit  your  benevolence  in 
the  name  of  your  country,  of  religion,  and  hun}anity. 
No  evil  can  more  dangerously  affect  the  peace  and  or- 
der of  the  community,  than  throwing  into  it  that  njass 
of  ignorance  and  vice,  which  must  result  from  aban- 
doning the  children  of  poverty  without  instruction,  or 


On  Chanhj.  215 

protection  to  all  the  infelicities  of  their  unhappy  state; 
whereas,  by  extending  to  them  the  hand  of  a  munificent 
charity,  you  prepare  for  your  country,  a  class  of  useful 
citizens,  serving  it  by  their  labour,  attached  by  the 
grateful  remembrance  of  the  benefits  (hey  have  received 
from  it,  and  stengthening  its  social  ties  by  virtuous 
habits,  and  religious  principle.  Yes,  christians,  by  this 
benevolence,  you  are  discharging  one  of  the  noblest 
duties  which,  as  good  citizens,  you  owe  your  country, 
or,  as  christians,  you  owe  the  church  of  God.  But,  if 
society  possesses  its  claims,  does  not  religion  impose 
its  commands.'^  Has  not  God  declared  himself  the 
protector  of  the  fatherless?  And  by  bestowing  on  you 
the  means  of  fulfilling  this  beneficent  design,  has  he 
not  devolved  on  you,  also  the  sacred  trust  of  protecting 
them  in  his  name.-*  Oh  blessed  Saviour'-  who,  in  the 
days  of  thy  flesh,  didst  take  little  children  in  thine 
arms  and  cherish  them;  from  that  throne  of  glory,  to 
which  thy  charity  and  love  to  mankind  did  raise  thee, 
inspire  our  bosoms,  here  in  thy  holy  temple,  with 
the  same  divine  spirit!  and  deign  to  accept  the  sacrifi- 
ces of  our  charity,  which,  on  this  evening,  we  make 
in  thy  courts  to  the  praise  and  glory  of  thy  heavenly 
grace!  Permit  me,  now  finally,  christian  brethren,  to 
address  our  invocation  to  you  in  the  name  of  huma- 
nitv. 

When  you  consider  the  friendless  condition  of  these 
orphans,  thrown  by  the  hand  of  Providence,  on  the  cold 
neglect  of  the  world,  do  not  the  strongest  sympathies 
of  nature  plead  for  them  in  your  breasts.^  Who,  alas! 
remains  to  mitigate  to  them  the  injuries  of  their  forlorn 


276  On  Charity. 

condition?  Who  to  administer  the  soothings  of  pity  to 
their  wretchedness?  Despised  and  forgotten,  or  passed 
with  contemptuous  scorn  by  every  casual  wanderer, 
they  seem  to  have  no  interest  in  hunian  nature,  not 
even  in  its  sympathies.  From  their  first  capacities  of 
action,  encompassed  only  with  the  incentives  and  ex- 
amples of  vice,  they  speedily  lose  every  ingenuous  sen- 
timent that  should  attach  them  to  society,  every  con- 
sciousness that  can  remind  them,  for  a  moment,  that 
they  belong  to  an  order  of  beings  above  the  brutes  that 
perish.  And,  when  you  look  forward,  christians,  dis- 
ciples of  that  blessed  Saviour  who  hath  brought  life  and 
immortality  to  light,  who  is  there  to  implant  one  prin- 
ciple of  piety,  to  cherish  one  spark  of  immortal  hope 
in  their  y<»ung  bosoms?  How  strong  then  is  the  appeal 
which  these  wretched  outcasts  make  to  your  charity 
as  christians,  and  to  your  feelings  as  men?  If  you 
regard  them  only  as  helpless  children,  most  tenderly  do 
they  solicit  your  commiseration.  But  if  you  view  them 
as  immortal  beings,  the  heirs  of  everlasting  life,  or  ev- 
erlasting death,  how  much  more  forcibly  do  they  knock 
at  the  hearts  of  the  disciples  of  the  Redeemer  of  man- 
kind? 

If  you  will  permit  me,  my  christian  brethren,  in  the 
conclusion  of  this  address,  to  suggest  an  inferior,  but 
certainly,  a  most  interesting  consideration;  your  be- 
nevolence this  evening  is  not  less  necessary  to  soothe 
the  hour  of  dissolution  to  the  dying  parent,  than  to  pro- 
tect the  beginning  of  hfe  to  the  destitute  orphan.  Death, 
so  terrible  in  its  own  nature,  is  often  aggravated  a  thou- 
sand ibid  to  the  feeling  heart,  by  the  prospect  ot  leaving 


On  Chanty.  211 

a  dependant  family  where  there  is  no  asyhim  to  receive 
them  from  the  contempt  and  injuries  of  the  world. 
What  must  be  the  sensations  of  an  affectionate  parent, 
in  bidding  a  last  adieu  to  his  beloved  offspring,  in  this 
dreadful  extremity?  He  is  poor  indeed,  and  we  are 
too  apt  to  think  lightly  of  the  feelings  of  poverty,  but 
poverty  has  not  quenched  natui'e  in  his  heart.  Oh! 
dear  but  wretched  portions  of  my  self!  What  retreat 
now  remains  to  you  from  that  dark,  dark  cloud  which 
I  see  bursting  over  you!  Had  I  been  spared,  these 
hands  could  still  have  laboured  for  you.  But  who  will 
be  a  parent  to  you  when  I  am  gone.^  Oh!  my  God! 
my  own  sorrows  I  could  have  born.  But  when  I  look 
on  these  children  who  exist,  and  are  miserable,  only 
because  I  once  loved,  my  heart  dies  within  me  before 
thy  last  stroke.  Merciful  Father  of  the  universe!  To 
thy  compassion,  may  I  dare  in  this  last  moment,  to 
commend  them.^  Be  thou  their  father  and  I  die  in 
peace! 

Yes,  christians,  from  heaven  he  hears  the  anguish 
of  a  parent's  heart  pleading  for  his  wretched  offspring: 
and  he  commits  to  your  charity  this  evening,  the  duty 
and  the  privilege  of  saving  them  for  him.  Pity,  dis- 
ciples of  your  Redeemer!  the  griefs  of  a  dying  father, 
of  a  dying  mother.  Commiserate  the  tears  and  the 
sufferings  of  an  unhappy  orphan;  or  if  it  is  yet  ignorant 
of  all  its  calamities,  let  that  very  ignorance  prove  a  new 
plea  for  it  to  your  humanity. 

But,  is  there  not  another  class  of  forsaken  infants, 
the  offsprings,  on  one  hand,  of  unfeeling  licentiousness, 
on  the  other  of  error  and  cruel  deception,  which  no 


278  On  Charity. 

less  powerfully  claim  your  charitable  protection,  not 
for  the  sake  of  the  guilty  parents  who  merit  your 
deepest  abhorrence,  but  for  the  sake  of  the  unoffend- 
ing little  sufferer,  whom,  not  its  own,  but  their  vices 
have  doomed  to  be  an  heir  of  misery  and  shame- 
Christians!  disciples  of  that  gracious  Master  who  re- 
ceived the  penitent  Magdalen  to  the  asylum  of  his 
mercy!  to  that  charity  by  which  you  chiefly  resemble 
him,  would  I  appeal  in  its  behalf  Nay,  to  that  sex 
conjoined  in  this  benevolent  association,  whose  virtues 
are  most  justly  offended,  may  I  not  dare  to  appeal? 
Ah!  let  not  your  chaste  and  virtuous  indignation  against 
the  crime  of  a  wretched  mother,  stifle  the  sympathies 
that  would  move  you  to  rescue  a  perishing  infant.  God 
forbid  that  I  should  endeavour  to  repress  one  indignant 
emotion  in  your  bosoms  against  a  vice,  the  bane  of 
public  morals,  of  domestic  tranquillity,  purity  and  hon- 
our. But  ah!  remember,  that  she  has,  most  probably, 
fallen  a  sacrifice  to  cruel,  villainous  seduction.  Unfee- 
ling wretches!  who  can  cooly  inmiolate  to  your  bru- 
tal appetites  inexperienced  innocence;  who  first  intox- 
icate the  heart  by  a  well  dissembled  passion, — betray 
its  too  easy  confidence  by  vows  and  oaths, — and  then 
plant  in  it  the  stings  of  an  eternal  remorse!  on  you 
chiefly  should  fall  the  vengeance  of  public  opinion,  and 
the  justice  of  the  laws.  Yet  such  is  the  perversion  of 
our  manners  that  you  still  continue  to  enjoy  a  certain 
indulgence  in  society,  while  the  deluded  victim  of  your 
perfidy  is  abandoned  to  despair.  Gracious  Heaven! 
what  could  impel  a  mother  to  desert  her  own  infant.'* 
The  weakest  and  most  timid  animals  are  inspired  with 


On  Charity.  279 

courage  to  defend  their  young:  women  for  them  will 
rush  upon  the  weapons  of  death,  or  plunge  into  the 
midst  of  flames.  Are  then  the  sentiments  of  nature  ex- 
tinguished in  her  heart?  Has  vice  converted  her  into 
a  monster?  No;  the  all-subduing  power  of  shame  has 
*irged  her  to  this  act  of  horror.  Great  God!  thou  wast 
witness  to  the  anguish  of  her  soul  while  she  perpetrated 
this  deed.  Penetrate  with  repentant  compunction  the 
heart  of  her  destroyer!  Let  her  deep  contrition  be  the 
pledge  of  her  restoration  to  virtue!  And  let  a  wretched 
infant,  though  surrounded  with  crimes,  find  an  asylum 
in  the  charity  of  so  many  virtuous  matrons,  whom  their 
own  virtue  permits,  without  shame,  to  snatch  it  from 
perdition!  And  do  you,  venerable  fathers,  do  you,  young 
men  of  virtuous  principles,  and  generous  feelings,  en- 
deavour by  your  charities,  and  by  the  moral  and  reli- 
gious culture  extended  to  these  children  of  shame,  to 
expiate,  in  some  measure,  the  vices  of  so  great  a  por- 
tion of  your  sex.  Do  I  speak  to  one  person  whose 
criminal  arts,  perhaps,  whose  perjuries,  have  plunged 
a  woman  into  infamy,  or  thrown  a  helpless  outcast  on 
the  benevolence  of  the  world?  Oh!  for  once  be  honest: 
for  once  let  a  sentiment  of  virtue  touch  your  heart; 
and  here^  in  this  temple,  make  some  atonement  for 
the  sighs,  the  tears,  the  anguish  you  have  created.  Ah! 
cruel  father!  unhappy  mother!  how  near  were  you  be- 
ing stained  with  the  blood  of  your  own  infant,  if  the 
charity  of  those  chaste  and  delicate  minds  who  most 
deeply  abhor  your  crime,  had  not  rescued  it  from  impen- 
ding death,  and  you  from  so  horrible  a  deed!  Father 
of  mercies!  if  ever  vice,  by  such  deeds  of  infamy. 


280  On  Charity. 

shall  outrage  the  morals  and  purity  of  a  christian  city, 
let  not  charity  be  ashamed  to  clasp  the  little  sulferers 
to  her  bosom,  and  rear  up  ciiildren  to  virtue  and  to 
thee! 

In  behalf  of  female  orphans,  especially  I  address  my- 
self to  that  sex  distinguished  for  the  purity  of  their  sen- 
timents, the  delicacy  of  their  feelings.  When  you  re- 
flect to  what  vice,  to  what  profligacy,  their  ignorance, 
their  wants,  the  abandoned  society  with  which  they 
will  be  compelled  to  mingle,  must  expose  them,  unless 
redeemed  from  ruin  by  your  charity,  can  stronger  mo- 
tives be  proposed  to  the  benevolence  of  your  hearts? 
To  a  virtuous  woman  this  is  a  state  worse  than  death. 
Mothers!  secure  in  the  virtue  of  your  amiable  daughters; 
daughters!  happy  in  the  protection  and  exaujple  of 
such  virtuous  mothers!  pity  the  unfortunate  orphans  of 
your  own  sex;  and  save  them  from  vice  and  infamy. 
Christians!  I  have  now  appealed  to  your  charity  in  be- 
half of  your  country,  of  rehgion,  and  humanity:  suffer 
me  finally  to  appeal  to  it  in  behalf  of  yourselves.        ^ 

Your  own  benevolence  will  furnish  you  with  your 
purest  and  noblest  pleasures.  What  enjoyments  are 
so  sincere,  or  so  nearly  allied  to  heaven  as  those  which 
are  tasted  by  the  heart  in  doing  good?  What  so  much 
ennobles  human  nature,  as  bearing  the  image  of  Him 
whose  beneficence  extends  to  all  being:  Every  grief 
which  you  extinguish,  every  sigh  which  you  suspend, 
every  consolation  whicli  you  pour  into  the  bosom  of 
the  afflicted,  redoubles,  by  reflection,  your  own  happi- 
ness. And  at  last,  when  you  shall  rest  Irom  the  labors 
and  sorrows  of  hfe,  how  sublime  will  be  your  fehcity! 


On  Charity,  281 

to  be  surrounded  in  the  presence  of  God  by  those  whom 
you  have  contributed  to  save!  to  draw  down  on  your- 
selves the  blessings  of  those  who  were  ready  to  perish! 
and  to  have  the  benedictions  of  your  charity.     Amen. 


VOL.  1.  0  o 


PAUL  PLEADING  BEFORE  AGRIPPA, 


And  Paul  said,  I  would  to  God,  that  not  only  thou,  but  also  all  that  Lear 
me  this  day,  were  both  almost,  and  altogether  such  as  I  am,  except 
these  bonds.     Acts  xxvi,  29. 

Paul,  in  this  eloquent  discourse  made  in  the  pre- 
sence of  Agrippa,  displays,  as  he  had  formerly  done 
in  that  which  he  deli\ered  at  the  tribunal  of  Felix,  the 
talents  and  address  of  a  consummate  orator.  This 
king,  the  son  of  Herod  the  great,  had  been  educated 
in  the  principles  of  the  Jewish  religion;  and,  although 
a  man  of  pleasure,  was  not  unacquainted  with  the  wri- 
tings of  Moses  and  the  Prophets,  nor,  perhaps,  wholly 
incredulous  of  their  divine  authority.  The  apostle, 
availing  himself  of  this  incident,  boasts  to  Agrippa  his 
Jewish  origin,  and  displays  his  zeal  in  the  Jewish  reli- 
gion, which  nothing  could  abate,  or  divert  from  its  fer- 
vent and  excessive  course,  till  the  blessed  Saviour  of 
the  world,  arresting  his  career,  poured  round  him  a 
light  from  heaven  beyond  the  brightness  of  the  sun, 
and  at  once  subdued  both  his  prejudices  and  his  rea- 
son, and  cured  his  unbelief,  by  appearing  to  him  in  all 
his  glory.  The  strength  of  early  prejudices  in 
Paul,  and  the  ardor  of  his  exterminating  zeal,  were 
vouchers  for  him  that  nothing  but  the  most  full  con- 
viction, the  most  illustrious  miracles,  could  have  led 


Paul  before  £gnppa.  28S 

him  to  embrace  the  gospel  of  Christ,  and  to  be  ready  to 
suffer  imprisonment  and  death,  in  that  cause  which 
he  had,  so  lately,  been  persecuting  with  the  bitterest 
fury.     He  now  saw  the  scriptures  in  a  new  light; — he 
saw  the  types  and  prophecies  all  pointing,  not  to  a 
conquering  Messiah  who  should  vindicate  the  Jewish 
nation  into  liberty,  and  subdue  the  world  by  arms,  but 
to  a  suffering  Saviour  who  should  conquer  only  by  his 
death.     On  this  subject  his  tongue  glowed,  till  the  Ro- 
man governor,  who  understood  none  of  these  things, 
exclaimed,  Paul!  thou  art  beside  thyself;  much  learning 
doth  7nake  thee  mad.     With  dignity,  but  with  the  pro- 
found respect  due  to  this  illustrious  magistrate,  he  re- 
pels the  imputation;  at  the  same  time  he  takes  occasion 
from  it  to  appeal  to  the  prejudices  of  Agrippa  as  a 
Jew.     The  king  knoweth  of  these  things,  saith  he,  be- 
fore ivhom  I  speak  freely.  They  are  known  to  him  not 
only  from  their  publicity  in  Judea,  but  from  their  an- 
alogy to  events  which  he  believes  in  our  ancient  scrip- 
tures.— King  Agrippa!  believest  thou  the  prophets?  1 
know  that  thou  believest.     This  appeal,  so  full  of  art, 
and  so  happily  applied,  this  apparent  confidence  in  his 
principles  as  a  Jewish  prince,  touched  the  heart  of 
the  king.  Almost,  saith  he,  thou  persuadest  me  to  be  a 
christian.     How  noble,  how  benevolent,  how  anima- 
ted, and  yet  delicate,  the  reply  of  the  apostle, — would 
to  God,  that  not  only  thou,  but  also  all  who  hear  me  this 
day,  were  both  almost,  and  altogether  such  as  lam,  ex- 
cept these  bonds!    The  address  discovered  by  the  ora- 
tor in  this  conclusion  cannot  be  too  much  admired. 
Finding  that  he  had  gained  the  ear  of  his  principal 


284)  Paul  before  dgrippa. 

judge;  perceiving,  in  the  language  of  Agrippa,  a 
rising  interest  in  his  favour,  he  instantly,  and  in  the 
most  masterly  manner,  turned  it  to  his  own  advantage. 
After  wishing  for  them,  and  for  all  the  vast  assembly 
which  heard  him,  the  happiness  which  he  enjoyed  as  a 
christian,  as  a  disciple  of  Jesus,  and  an  heir  of  the  re- 
surrection, he  just  points  to  his  chains  as  the  only  de- 
duction from  the  sum  of  his  felicity,  and  the  only  thing 
which  he  would  not  include  in  his  wishes  for  them. 
Those  chains  speak  powerfully  for  him  to  hearts  alrea- 
dy predisposed  both  to  pity  and  admire  him.  He  fore- 
saw the  impression  they  would  produce;  it  was  suffi- 
cient now  merely  to  point  to  them,  to  make  every  spec- 
tator feel  their  cruelty  more  sensibly  than  could  be 
done  by  a  thousand  harangues.  Festus  and  Agrippa 
rise  from  the  tribunal,  and,  penetrated  with  his  inno- 
cence, take  measures,  with  all  expedition,  to  transmit 
him  to  Rome  according  to  his  desire.  Sublime  ora- 
tor! of  whose  eloquence  the  master  of  Grecian  critics 
has  already  made  the  eulogium,  thou  wast  still  more 
excellent  and  worthy  of  our  esteem  as  a  christian  mi- 
nister. Let  us  then,  my  brethren,  consider  the  import 
of  his  prayer  for  Agrippa,  for  Festus,  and  for  all  that 
immense  assembly  whom  curiosity  had  attracted  toge- 
ther to  hear  this  celebrated  discourse.  The  apostle, 
feehng  the  strongest  conviction  of  the  truth,  as  it  is  in 
Jesus,  and  glowing  with  the  love  of  his  Saviour,  and 
conscious  of  the  ineffable  happiness  which  flows  from 
the  belief  and  the  hopes  of  the  gospel,  dares,  though  in 
the  humblest  station,  though  exposed  to  labours,  af- 
flictions, persecutions,  and  though  now  just  drawn  forth 


Paul  before  Agrippa.  285 

from  a  prison,  to  wish  for  kings,  and  princes,  the  same 
fehqity  in  the  reception  of  that  precious  gospel  which 
he  himself  experienced. 

What  then,  is  the  happiness  flowing  from  a  sincere 
believer  in  the  doctrines  of  Christ,  which  emboldened 
his  com'age  and  prompted  his  benevolent  zeal  to  utter 
such  a  prayer  in  their  behalf?  In  ordinary  cases,  it 
would  have  been  deemed  insulting  to  men  of  their  sta- 
tion and  rank  in  the  world,  to  desire  for  them  the  hap- 
piness of  a  prisoner  in  chains;  but  the  holy  apostle, 
inflamed  with  a  subject  so  interesting  to  him  and  to 
mankind,  was  moved  by  the  consciousness  that  he  was 
imploring  for  them  the  highest  of  temporal  and  eter- 
nal blessings. 

The  religion  of  Christ,  embraced  on  the  ground  of 
conviction,  and  with  the  sincerity  and  ardor  with  which 
St.  Paul  received  it,  is  a  source  of  the  most  exalted 
happiness  to  the  greatest  and  wisest,  as  well  as  the 
humblest,  of  mankind; — because  it  composes  and 
settles  the  doubts  and  anxious  inquiries  of  the  human 
mind,  with  regard  to  subjects  the  most  important  and 
interesting  to  man,  on  a  basis  of  immovable  truth, — it 
offers  to  the  affections  of  heart  the  most  perfect  ob- 
jects to  fill  them, — it  affords  the  only  true  consolation 
under  all  the  calamities  of  life,— it  elevates  our  nature, 
strengthens  virtue,  and  opens  to  us  the  sources  of  the 
highest  felicity  in  a  future,  a  blessed,  and  immortal  ex- 
istence. 

1.  It  composes  and  settles  the  fluctuating  and  doubt- 
ing mind,  tossed  among  a  thousand  anxious  uncertain- 
ties concerning  subjects  the  most  important  and  inte- 


286  Paul  before  Agiippa. 

resting  to  man.  Without  the  aids  of  those  lights  from 
heaven  which  we  can  follow  with  security  in  exami- 
ning them,  reason  is  agitated  in  a  chaos  of  doubt.  In 
the  deep  of  security  which  surrounds  us,  its  feeble  ta- 
per seems  only  to  mislead  us  the  more.  Abandon  re- 
velation, and  what  can  we  know  of  the  Creator;  of  the 
origin,  or  government  of  the  world;  even  of  our  own 
nature,  our  duties,  or  our  destination?  What  various, 
what  incoherent,  what  contradictory  conjectures  have 
the  wisest  of  men  framed  on  these  subjects  which, 
above  all  others,  they  have  sought  to  understand!  0 
God!  if  by  the  efforts  of  reason  alone  we  attempt  to 
lift  our  souls  to  thee,  and  unite  them  to  the  infinite 
source  of  being,  how  are  we  lost  and  confounded!  Ig- 
norance repels  us  from  thy  throne,  and  we  seek  to 
know  thee,  in  vain!  Nay,  could  we  be  assured  amidst 
the  evils  of  the  world,  if  there  were  a  God;  or  if  all 
things  were  governed  by  capricious  accident,  or  by  a 
senseless  fate.?  If  our  destiny  were  indifferent  to  him, 
or  if  frail  mortals  might  hope  to  find  in  him  a  father 
in  whose  good  u ess  and  compassion  they  might  take  re- 
fuge even  in  death.? — Would  not  as  many  anxious  in- 
quiries arise  also  with  regard  to  our  own  being.?  What 
are  we?  For  what  end  do  we  exist.?  What  are  our 
duties  either  to  heaven  or  earth.?  What  shall  be  our 
destiny  beyond  this  life.?  These  are  questions,  and 
they  might  be  multiplied  without  end,  which  involve 
interests  the  dearest  and  most  precious  to  man;  ideas 
which  the  eager  curiosity  of  the  reasonable  mind  is 
most  solicitous  to  imderstand.  But  has  reason,  has  all 
the  wisdom  of  the  wise  ever  been  able  to  resolve  them, 


Paul  before  Agrippa.  287 

or  to  bring  to  light  any  solid  grounds  on  which  an  anx- 
ious inquirer  after  truth  can  rest?     No,  we  find,  in 
the  revelation  of  the  Spirit  of  Christ  alone,  those  lights 
which  can  lead  the  heart  to  solid  repose.  Agrippa  was 
at  this  moment  agitated  by  an  important  doubt.  He  was 
irresolute,  and  undetermined  whether  he  should  yield 
himself  to  the  instructions  of  this  great  apostle  of 
Christ,  or  resign  his  understanding  again  to  all  the 
uncertainties  of  his  former  state.     Conviction  on  the 
one  side,  or  rather  the  dawning  rays  of  truth,  and,  on 
the  other,  habit,  honor,  pleasure,  drew  him  different 
ways    Would  to  God!  saith  this  holy  minister,  that  I 
could  withdraw  you  from  the  dark  and  dubious  re- 
gions of  nature  in  which  you  are  involved!  that  I  could 
make  you  partaker  of  those  holy  and  consolatory  truths 
on  which  my  own  mind  reposes  with  such  unspeaka- 
ble satisfaction!     That  I  could  shed  into  your  heart 
those  precious  lights  which  would  fix  all  its  waverings, 
and  lead  you,  as  they  have  done  my  own  soul,  to  a  per- 
fect rest  in  God! 

2.  The  faith  of  Christ  is  a  source  of  the  highest 
happiness,  in  the  next  place,  because  it  offers  to  the 
heart  the  noblest  objects  of  its  affections.  Would  to 
God,  saith  St.  Paul,  that  you  were  as  /  am,  for  my  con- 
solations are  complete  in  Christ.  And  Avell  might  this 
prayer  be  made  for  Agrippa  and  for  Festus,  lor  prin- 
ces and  for  people,  for  all  who  bound  their  pursuits 
and  hopes  by  this  world.  What  is  necessary  to  hap- 
piness.'^ Interests  which  are  stable,  friends  who  are 
sincere,  pleasures  which  are  worthy  of  our  nature. 
And,  alas!  what  are  the  pleasures  which  the  world 


288  Paul  before  Agrippa. 

affords?  What  are  the  pleasures,  especially,  which 
reign  in  the  courts  of  such  princes  as  Festus  and 
Agrippa?  Are  they  not  those  of  appetite,  of  intempe- 
rance? Pleasures  which  are  such,  only  during  the 
moments  of  passion  and  intoxication;  but  leave  behind 
them  guilt,  remorse,  and  humiliation. 

What  in  the  next  place,  are  the  friendships  of  the 
world?  cold,  interested,  treacherous.  For  friends,  do 
you  not  too  often  find  rivals,  enemies,  secret  assassins 
of  your  name  and  happiness?  And  are  not  the  most 
splendid  conditions  of  fortune  still  more  than  others, 
subject  to  these  infelicities?  And  what  is  the  ordina- 
ry state  of  society  in  the  world,  but  an  intercourse  of 
insipidity,  of  frivolity,  of  indifference,  of  insincerity,  in 
which  the  heart  is  deserted,  or  pleases  itself  only  with 
delusions?  What,  finally,  are  the  interests  of  the 
world?  Is  there  any  thing  durable  in  them?  Any 
thing  which  can  completely  satisfy  an  immortal  mind? 
Are  they  not  continually  disappointing  our  hopes,  and 
perishing  from  our  embrace?  Is  not  their  pursuit  tu- 
mult, their  possession  anxiety;  and,  if  these  are  our  on- 
ly goods,  their  loss  despair?  Do  not  these  agitations 
and  fears  more  frequently  harrass  the  prince  than  the 
peasant?  Do  not  the  vicissitudes  of  the  world  more 
dreadfully  assail  the  throne  than  the  cottage?  The 
hearts  of  those  who  are  elevated  to  high  stations  and 
to  power,  have  still  less  to  fill  the  void  that  is  in  them 
than  those  of  the  meanest  of  their  dependents.  Sur- 
rounded with  sycophants  and  interested  flatterers,  they 
seldom  possess  a  single  friend  with  whom  they  can 
confidentially  reciprocate  one  frank  and  tender  feeling 


Paul  before  A^rippa.  289 

of  the  soul. — 0  King!  if  you  would  seek  for  sincere 
happiness,  happiness  that  shall  be  durable  and  worthy 
of  your  nature,  expect  not  to  find  it  in  the  splendor  of 
your  throne,  in  the  dissipations  of  your  court,  in  that 
crowd  of  flatterers  and  dependents  who  surround  you, 
in  a  word,  in  any  of  the  enjoyments  of  the  world.  It 
is  to  be  found  only  in  the  religion  of  that  Heavenly 
Master  whose  grace  arrested  my  criminal  career,  and 
illuminated  my  darkened  mind,  and  in  whose  name  I 
now  preach.  Would  to  God  that  I  could  impart  to 
you  the  principles  of  that  joy  which  passeth  all  under- 
standing, now  reigning  in  my  breast,  which  the  world, 
in  all  its  prosperity,  cannot  yield,  nor  can  all  its  adver- 
sity take  away.  This  furnishes  the  highest  and  the 
only  certain  sources  of  felicity  to  a  reasonable  mind. 
But  it  must  be  a  mind  renewed,  purified  from  the 
grossness  of  the  flesh,  cultivated  by  the  spirit  of  God 
himself,  to  be  able  to  relish,  and  truly  to  enjoy  them. 
In  God,  in  Christ,  in  the  law  of  charity  and  love,  ia 
the  contemplation  of  a  blessed  and  immortal  existence, 
the  heart  of  a  good  man  enjoys  its  richest  treasures,  its 
supreme  consolations.  In  the  Creator  he  finds  the 
sum  of  all  that  is  sublime  and  beautiful,  that  is  excel- 
lent and  perfect  in  the  universe.  In  him  all  the  pow- 
ers of  the  soul  may  expatiate  with  eternal  and  unwea- 
ried delight.  But  Christ  is  the  mirror  in  which  the 
glory  of  the  Deity  shines  with  the  most  transcendent 
beauty  to  man.  In  him  the  penitent  soul  finds  peace 
with  God.  The  fears,  the  apprehensions,  the  disquie- 
tudes of  guilt  are  allayed.     Without  a  mediator,  no 

frail  and  sinful  mortal  can  look  up  to  the  supreme  tri- 
voL.  I.  pp 


^90  Paul  before  Jlgrippa. 

bunal,  or  approach  to  the  borders  of  the  grave  without 
fear.  JButin  Christ  repentant  guilt  his  nothing  to  ap- 
prehend even  from  the  justice  of  heaven.  And  let 
every  believer  say,  if  he  does  not  afford  to  the  heart  the 
object  of  its  sweetest  and  most  delightful  affections. 
Behold,  God  manifest  in  the  flesh!  behold,  God  recon- 
ciled to  offending  man!  behold  yourself  redeemed  from 
eternal  death,  and  made  an  heir  of  everlasting  life! 
What  cause  is  here  for  the  unbounded  flow  of  grati- 
tude and  joy,  for  the  holy  ecstasies  of  love!  0,  Agrip- 
pa!  thou  hast  never  experienced,  in  all  the  pomp  of 
royalty,  in  all  the  flatteries  which  wait  on  power,  in  all 
the  excesses  of  criminal  pleasure,  joys  to  be  compa- 
red to  these.  Would  to  God,  saith  the  apostle,  anima- 
ted with  all  the  fervors  of  divine  love,  that  thou  wert 
a  partaker  of  my  felicity,  so  pure,  so  exquisite,  so  sur- 
passing all  understanding! 

Other  objects  of  the  heart  in  the  law  of  charity,  and 
love  to  our  fellow  men,  I  omit  particularly  to  present  to 
you,  lest  I  exhaust  your  attention;  but  proceed  to  re- 
call to  your  minds, 

3.  Another  source  of  the  happiness  afforded  by  re- 
ligion in  the  consolation  which  it  affords  in  all  the  ca- 
lamities of  life. 

Of  this,  experience  had  rendered  Paul  himself  a  most 
competent  judge.  Stripes  and  imprisonments,  insults, 
and  the  excesses  of  popular  fury,  dangers  and  fatigue, 
hunger  and  thirst,  by  land  and  on  sea,  on  the  highway 
and  in  the  desert,  had  constantly  pursued  him  ever 
since,  obedient  to  the  heavenly  vision,  he  had  con^e- 
erated  himself  to  the  service  of  Christ.     He  had  often, 


Faul  before  Agrippa,  291 

as  he  says  himselt,  been  in  the  midst  of  deaths,  for  the 
cause  of  truth  and  of  his  ever  blessed  Redeemer;  but 
the  consolations  of  reUgion  were   superior  to  all  his 
sufferings;  and,  at  that  moment,  though  a  prisoner  and 
in  chains,  he  felt  himself  happier  than  kings  and  pro- 
consuls on  their  tribunals  and  their  thrones.    Whence 
did  these  consolations  arise  to  the  apostle?  and  whence 
do  they  arise  to  every  sincere  believer?  From  the  glo- 
ry of  God,  from  the  mercy,  the  grace,  and  salvation  of 
the  Redeemer,  which,  absorbing  all  the  soul  in  the 
most  delightful  contemplations,  and  wrapping  it  often 
in  the  ecstasies  of  admiration,  gratitude,  and  divine 
love,  render  it  superior  to  all  its  afflictions.     They 
arise  from  the  conviction  that  all  these  temporary  pains, 
which  are  part  of  our  discipline  upon  earth,  are,  under 
the  direction  of  a  most  wise  and  gracious  parent,  who 
does  not  afflict  willingly  nor  grieve  the  children  of  men; 
a  merciful  correction  that  will  ultimately  be  converted 
into  a  peculiar  blessing  to  those  who  love  God;  and 
that  these  light  afflictions,  which  are  but  for  a  moment, 
work  out,  in  the  end,  afar  more  exceeding  and  eternal 
weight  ofglonj,  to  those  who  enter  heaven  through  ma- 
Kiy  tribulations. 

The  world  is  full  of  calamities;  and,  conniionly,  as 
we  advance  in  life,  and,  especially,  as  we  verge  to- 
wards its  decline,  the  strokes  of  misfortune  fall  so  hea- 
vily, and  are  repeated  in  such  quick  succession,  that, 
were  it  not  for  the  supports  of  religion,  the  tender  and 
sensible  heart  would  sink  under  them.  And  are  thrones 
exempted  from  afflictions,  more  than  cottages?  wealth 
and  splendor  of  fortune,  more  than  poverty?    A  grip- 


292  Paul  before  Agrippa, 

pa  more  than  Paul?  Nay,  are  not  elevated  stations 
more  exposed  than  the  humble,  to  the  fury  of  the 
tempest?  Prosperity,  while  it  skives  an  increased  va- 
lue to  the  world,  and  renders  it  more  necessary  to  our 
happiness,  at  the  same  time  softens,  and  weakens  the 
heart,  and  makes  all  the  vicissitudes  of  life  the  more 
terrible.  High  fortune  commonly  finds,  in  the  latter 
end,  men  more  treacherous,  and  the  world  more  de- 
ceitful. But,  when  the  world,  and  all  its  enjoyments, 
are  about  to  pass  away  forever,  how  fearful  is  the 
grave,  how  fearful  is  eternity,,  to  those  who  have  no 
higher  portion!  Life  was  troubled,  anxious,  insecure: 
but  despair  rests  upon  the  tomb. 

4.  Another  excellence  and  felicity  of  religion,  there- 
fore, and  one  which  gave  the  state  of  the  apostle  an  in- 
finite preference  above  that  of  his  illustrious  hearers,  is 
the  precious  hope  which  it  yields  a  good  man  of  a  bles- 
sed immortality.  It  removes  from  the  grave  that  des- 
pair which  covers  it  to  the  guilty,  and  adds  to  the  con- 
sciousness of  being  a  higher  and  purer  enjoyment  by 
the  consoling  assurance  that  we  shall  not  perish  in  the 
dust;  that  life  is  there  suspended  only  for  a  moment, 
to  be  restored  improved  to  inconceivable  degrees  of 
felicity  and  perfection.  Blessed  and  glorious  hope! 
What  ideas  can  contribute  so  much  to  elevate  our  na- 
ture, to  strengthen  the  principles  of  virtue,  and,  from 
both  causes,  to  promote  the  happiness  of  a  sincere  be- 
liever in  Jesus  Christ?  Paul,  when  rapt  to  the  third 
heavens,  he  saw  and  heard  what  it  was  impossible  to 
express  in  the  language  of  mortals,  had  still  but  faint 
conceptions  of  the  glory  that  is  to  be  revealed;  but  it 


Paul  before  Agrippa.  29$ 

taught  him  to  rejoice  in  persecution,  it  inspired  hira 
with  a  desire  to  depart  and  be  with  Christy  it  enabled 
him  to  triumph  over  the  last  enemy  of  man — O  grave! 
where  is  thy  victory/  0  death,  where  is  thy  sting! — Was 
it  not  with  reason  then  that  the  holy  apostle  prayed  for 
his  princely  hearers,  that  they  might  be  persuaded  to 
embrace  that  blessed  gospel,  the  divine  fruits  of  which 
he  had  found  to  his  own  unspeakable  consolation;  that 
blessed  Redeemer  who  by  his  death  hath  purchased, 
by  his  resurrection  has  assured  to  all  his  faithful  disci- 
ples, everlasting  life?  Paganism,  philosophy,  that  lax 
Judaism  which  Agrippa  professed,  could  give  no  dis- 
tinct ideas,  no  certain  hopes  of  a  future  and  happy  ex- 
istence. But  without  this  hope,  what  are  the  pomps, 
what  are  the  fortunes,  what  are  the  pleasures  of  the 
world,  which  are  hastening  to  pass  away,  and  be  swal- 
lowed up  by  death?  It  is  not  merely  the  gloom  of  an- 
ticipated annihilation  which  is  shed  upon  them;  but  con- 
science, with  a  boding  voice  often  shakes  the  heart  in  the 
midst  of  its  crimes  with  the  most  fearful  apprehensions  of 
a  future  retribution.  And  at  no  time,  perhaps,  are  these 
bodings  louder,  or  these  apprehensions  more  severe 
than  in  the  intervals  of  the  excesses  of  pleasure.  What 
are  those  blue  hours  as  they  are  often  called  by  the 
world,  those  distressful  feelings  of  which  the  intempe- 
rate so  often  complain,  but  dismal  anticipations  of  fu- 
turity? Oh!  Proconsuls  of  Rome!  Kings  of  the  east! 
dissolved  in  luxury,  enervated  by  pleasure,  dazzled  by 
the  splendors  which  surround  you,  yet  often  trembling 
at  that  airy  hand  which,  to  the  eye  of  conscience,  is 
writing  your  condemnation,  how  supremely  blessed  is 


^94  Paul  before  Agrippa, 

a  humble,  persecuted  apostle  in  chains,  compared  with 
you!  Oh!  ineffable  consolation  to  have  beyond  this 
life  the  hope  of  living  forever,  of  beholding  God  in 
peace,  of  being  united  in  the  blessed  society  of  all  those 
pure  spirits  who  have  been  redeemed  from  the  earth 
by  the  blood  of  the  Lamb;  of  pouring  into  the  bosom 
of  the  Saviour  the  eternal  ecstasies  of  our  gratitude, 
and  of  advancing  forward,  by  an  endless  progression 
in  the  perfection  of  our  being,  towards  the  infinite 
source  of  existence,  and  of  happiness.  Ah!  would  to 
God!  that  all  who  hear  me  this  day  were  both  almost 
and  altogether  such  as  was  this  holy  and  fervent  apos- 
tle, except  his  bonds!  But  why  need  I  make  this  ex- 
ception? You  would  be  happy  in  bonds,  in  imprison- 
ment, or  death,  if  it  were  necessary  in  the  service  of 
Christ. 

But,  my  brethren,  remember  that,  for  this  end,  you 
must  be  not  only  almost  but  altogether  christians.  You 
must  not  rest,  like  x4grippa,  in  partial  convictions  of 
the  truth;  in  resolutions  and  wishes  imperfectly  form- 
ed: you  must  not  rest  in  rites  and  exterior  forms,  and 
in  a  merely  nominal  and  exterior  profession  of  the  gos- 
pel of  Jesus.  You  must  imbibe,  you  must  be  anima- 
ted by  his  spirit.  Let  the  same  spirit  be  in  you  which 
was  also  in  Christ  Jesus  our  Lord.  The  higher  you 
rise  in  your  attainments  in  virtue  and  piety,  the  more 
richly  will  you  drink  of  those  rivers  of  pleasure  which 
flow  at  God's  right  hand. 

Endue  us,  0  God!  with  thy  Holy  Spirit!    Elevate 
our  views,  our  tastes,  our  affections,  above  this  world,. 


Paul  before  Agrippa.  295 

that,  partaking  copiously  of  the  communications  of  thy 
grace,  we  may  begin  on  earth,  the  feUcity  oi'  heaven! 
Amen! 


THE  DESIRE  OF  THE  APOSTLE  TO 

DEPART,  AND  BE  WITH  CHRIST. 


Haviug  a  desire  to  depart  and  be  with  Christ,  which  is  far  better. 

Phil.  i.  23^. 

When  we  regard  the  present  life  as  a  period  of 
trial  destined  to  prepare  our  nature  for  a  higher  con- 
dition of  existence:  it  will  be  the  tendency  of  a  genuine 
faith  in  the  truth  of  the  gospel,  often  to  look  beyond 
all  the  imperfections  of  life,  to  the  full  maturity  of  our 
being,  and  the  glorious  rewards,  with  which  a  faithful 
and  merciful  Saviour  shall  ultimately  crown  the  obe- 
dience of  his  sincere  disciples.  The  hope  of  the  glory 
to  be  revealed,  bestowed  by  the  grace,  and  enjoyed  in 
the  presence  of  the  Redeemer,  affords  the  supreme 
consolation  to  humble  piety  under  all  the  distressing 
vicissitudes  of  the  present  life.  And  when  the  evils 
of  the  world  are  multiplied,  and  the  frailty  of  human 
nature  is  ready  to  sink  beneath  their  pressure,  often 
will  the  good  man  lift  to  heaven  the  eye  of  faith,  as  to 
his  proper  home,  pouring  his  sighs  into  the  bosom 
of  his  heavenly  Father,  that  the  moment  may  at  length 
arrive,  when  he  shall  be  permitted  to  rest  from  his  la- 
hours.  And  in  the  progress  of  his  pilgrimage,  where 
harassed  by  temptation,  or  overwhelmed  with  grief  for 


Desire  of  the  Apostle,  ^c.  297 

the  remaining  imperfections  of'his  nature,  when  hope  is 
ready  to  forsake  him,  and  the  feeble  and  obscure  disco- 
veries of  faith  are  insufficient  to  satisfy  the  ardent  long- 
ings of  his  soul,  will  he  not  often  be  ready  anxiously  to 
exclaim,  lohen  ivill  the  day  daimi,  and  these  shadows  flee 
away?  when  shall  I  lay  aside  this  body  of  sin  and  death; 
and  my  soul  arrive  at  its  desired  rest! 

Such  were  the  fervent  aspirations  of  this  holy  apos- 
tle, under  the  numberless  perils,  and  the  unceasing 
persecutions  to  which  he  was  exposed  for  the  sake  of 
the  gospel  of  his  Lord  and  Saviour.  Nature  almost 
exhausted,  and  sinking  under  the  weight  of  his  suffer- 
ings, panted  for  repose  like  the  weary  hireling  at  the 
close  of  day.  And  nothing  reconciled  him  to  enduring 
the  load  of  life  but  the  prospect  of  rearing  to  maturity 
those  churches  which  he  had  planted  amidst  the  most 
imminent  dangers.  Earnestly  he  desired  to  depart  and 
be  with  Christ,  nevertheless,  saith  he,  to  abide  in  the 
flesh  is  more  needful  for  you. 

1.  Let  me,  then,  in  the  first  place,  consider  the  im- 
port of  this  pious  aspiration  of  the  holy  apostle,  which 
has  been  frequently  repeated  by  other  believers  the 
imitators  of  his  faith. 

2.  And,  in  the  next  place,  illustrate  the  principal 
reasons  for  which  a  sincere  disciple  of  Christ  may  de- 
sire, when  such  is  the  will  of  God,  to  be  absent  from 
the  body,  and  present  with  the  Lord. 

1.  This  holy  desire  of  the  apostle,  and  of  every  true 
believer  by  whom  it  is  repeated,  implies  as  an  indis- 
pensible  pre-requisite  an  humble  and  confiding  trust  in 
the  righteousness  of  the  Redeemer,  and  in  his  most  gra- 

VOL.  1.      _^  Q  q 


298  Desire  of  the  Apostle 

cious  promises  of  eternal  life.  Out  of  Christ,  saith  the 
Holy  Spirit,  our  God  is  a  consuming  fire  to  the  irm^k- 
ers  of  iniquity.  To  them,  therefore,  the  dissolution  ot 
the  body,  and  the  appearance  of  the  soul  before  the 
Supreme  tribunal,  far  from  being  an  object  of  desire, 
is  an  event  which  necessarily  fills  them  with  dismay. 
It  is  only  when  our  faith  can  rest  its  hopes  upon  tlie 
rock  of  ages,  that  it  can  overcome  the  painful  appre- 
hensions of  our  approaching  dissolution.  It  is  only  when 
the  soul,  confiding  with  a  holy  assurance  in  Christ,  can 
fill  her  view  with  that  celestial  glory  to  which  he  is 
raised,  as  the  head  of  all  his  people,  that  she  aspires  to 
enter  with  him  into  her  eternal  rest.  In  this  confi- 
dence she  is  able  to  meet  the  last  enemy  with  a  divine 
tranquillity,  and,  often,  to  rejoice,  in  the  stroke  which 
breaks  the  ties  that  hold  her  enchained  to  the  corrup- 
tions of  the  (lesh;  and  rends  the  veil  which  obscures  the 
vision  of  all  that  she  has  longed  most  ardently  to  en- 
joy. Hence  the  saints  in  scripture  are  so  often  heard 
to  speak  the  language  of  triumph  in  the  prospect  of 
death,  and  under  the  pressure  of  sufferings  more  for- 
midable than  death  to  the  devout  and  holy  soul.  Be- 
ing justified  by  faith,  saith  the  apostle,  we  have  peace 
ivith  God  through  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ.  Who  shall 
separate  us  from  the  love  of  Christ?  Shall  tribulation, 
or  distress,  or  persecution,  or  famine,  or  nakedness,  or 
peril,  or  sword?  JS'ay,  in  all  these  things  we  are  moi^e 
than  conquerors  through  him  that  loved  us.  For  lam 
persuaded  that  neither  death,  nor  life,  nor  angels,  nor 
piincipaUHes,  nor  'powers,  nor  things  present,  nor  things 
to  come,  nor  height,  7ior  depth,  nor  any  other  crecdure, 


To  depart  and  he  uith  Christ.  299 

shall  he  ahle  to  separate  us  from  the  love  of  God  which 
is  in  Jesus  Christ,  mir  Lord.  Here  then,  holy  hrethren, 
you  perceive  the  first  principle  of  that  fervent  aspira- 
tion expressed  by  the  blessed  apostle,  and  which  has 
often  been  breathed  forth  by  the  saints,  to  dcjmrl  and 
be  with  Christ, — a  firm  trust  in  the  righteousness  of  the 
ever  blessed  Redeemer,  and  founded  on  this,  a  lively 
hope  in  the  future  rewards  and  glory  which  aw^ait  all 
true  believers.  Why,  indeed,  should  not  an  afflicted 
christian  earnestly  desire  this  happy  release  from  a 
suffering  and  sinful  world,  if,  with  the  venerable  pa- 
triarch, in  similar  circumstances,  he  can  say,  /  knoiv 
that  mil  Redeemer  liveth,  and  that  he  shall  stand  in  the 
latter  day  upon  the  earth: — and  though  after  my  skin, 
ivorms  destroy  this  body,  yet,  in  myjlesh,  1  shall  see  God. 

2.  This  breathing  of  the  soul,  implies  in  the  next 
place,  that  the  apostle  had  risen,  by  the  power  of  a  di- 
vine faith,  above  the  undue  influence  of  all  the  ordinary, 
and  even  lawful  causes,  which  usually  attach  a  good 
man,  most  strongly  to  life. 

I  do  not  mean  those  natural  appetites  for  the  com- 
mon blessings  of  divine  Providence  which  are  insepara- 
ble from  human  nature  as  long  as  we  remain  connect- 
ed with  this  system  of  sense.  Desirable  and  lawful 
they  are  while  pursued  with  moderation  and  enjoy- 
ed with  temperance.  But  what  are  the  highest  delights 
of  the  perishing  body,  compared  with  those  rivers  of 
pleasure,  which  spring  eternally  from  the  throne  of 
God  .^  What  the  products  of  your  most  fruitful  fields 
compared  with  the  fruit  of //le  tree  of  life  which  grows 
in  the  midst  of  the  paradise  of  God.^  And  although  H  is  a 


SOO  Desire  of  the  apostle 

pleasant  thing  to  behold  the  sun,  will  not  the  humble 
christian  joyfully  close  his  eyes  upon  it,  who  believes 
that  he  is  entering  into  that  city  which  hath  no  need  of 
the  sun,  neither  of  the  iuoon  to  shine  in  it,  for  the 
glory  of  the  Lord  doth  lighten  it,  and  the  Lamb  is  the 
light  thereof? 

But  the  causes  to  which  I  i^efer,  and  which  are 
adapted  to  take  the  most  powerful  hold  on  the  heart  of 
a  truly  pious  man,  are  the  desire  of  being  more  exten- 
sively useful  to  mankind;  soHcitude  to  strengthen 
the  habits  of  piety  and  virtue  in  his  own  breast,  before 
he  is  called  to  appear  in  the  immediate  presence  of  his 
Supreme  judge;  and  finally,  the  wish  to  promote  the 
comfort  and  happiness  of  those  who  at  once  are  most 
immediately  dependent  on  his  protection,  and  are  the 
dearest  objects  of  his  affections  upon  earth. 

1.  Of  these  causes,  I  place  first,  the  desire  of  being 
more  extensively  useful  to  mankind. 

This  holy  apostle,  notwithstanding  his  solicitude  to 
exchange  his  labours  for  his  reward,  his  conflicts  for 
his  crown,  was  ready,  if  such  were  the  will  of  his  hea- 
venly Father,  to  continue  in  the  midst  of  his  sufferings 
and  dangers,  to  rear  by  his  care,  and  nourish  with  the 
word  of  life,  the  churches  which  he  had  planted  by  his 
labours.  To  promote  the  glory  of  God  in  the  salvation 
of  mankind,  is  the  object  of  supreme  desire  to  every 
faithful  servant  of  Christ.  United  in  affection  to  those 
to  whom  he  has  been  made  the  instrument  of  spiritual 
good,  he  may  wish  still  to  live  with  them,  to  encourage 
and  assist  their  progress  in  their  heavenly  journey. 
Ever  attentive  to  the  interests  of  the  church,  he  may 


To  depart  and  be  mth  Chnst.  301 

be  anxious  to  see,  with  regard  to  it,  the  issue  of  new 
and  uncommon  aspects  of  divine  providence.  Per- 
ceiving with  grief  how  httle  he  has  hitherto  done  to 
advance  the  kingdom  of  his  Redeemer,  so  dear  to  all 
the  faithful,  he  may  be  sohcitous  still  to  remain  upon 
earth,  to  repair,  if  possible,  the  imperfection  of  his 
past  services.  He  may  have  laid  down  new  resolu- 
tions of  duty,  new  and  more  holy  purposes  of  useful- 
ness, which  he  may  pray  only  to  have  time  to  accom- 
plish. Yet  these  motives,  however  laudable,  must  be 
submitted  to  the  sovereign  disposal  of  Almighty  God. 
If  it  is  his  will  that  you  should  leave  the  harvest  in  the 
midst  of  your  labours,  go  without  a  murmur;  go  with 
cheerful  resignation  to  receive  a  reward,  in  your  own 
esteem  so  little  merited,  knowing  that  he  hath  other 
labourers  whom  he  can  send  into  his  harvest.  On  the 
other  hand,  however  ardently  he  may  long  for  his  eter- 
nal rest,  he  will  be  willing  to  encounter  all  the  afflic- 
tions of  this  earthly  pilgrimage,  as  long  as  his  Saviour 
lias  one  work  for  him  to  perform,  or  one  trial  for  him 
to  endure.  He  is  in  a  strait  betivixt  two;  but  the  will 
of  Heaven  shall  decide  his  choice. 

2.  If  a  zeal  for  public  usefulness  contribute  to 
strengthen  his  desire  of  life,  it  may,  perhaps,  be  aug- 
mented by  a  pious  solicitude  to  become  more  conform- 
ed to  the  image  and  the  will  of  God,  before  he  is  call- 
ed from  this  state  of  trial  to  receive  his  final  reward. 

This  is  a  case,  however,  in  which  the  deceitfulness 
of  the  human  heart  may  easily  mistake,  in  ascribing  to 
a  desire  of  increasing  sanctification,  only  some  feeble 
purposes  of  future  duty.    If  it  were  simply  his  desire 


o02  Desire  of  the  Apostle 

to  rise  to  the  full  maturity  of  his  christian  virtue; 
where  can  he  so  certainly  attain  the  perfection  of  holi- 
ness as  in  heaven,  when  he  shall  have  put  off  this  body 
of  sin  and  death?  Ought  not  a  believer  therefore,  to 
find,  in  these  considerations  even  stronger  motives  to 
desire  to  be  absent  from  the  body  and  present  with  the 
Lord;  and  to  look  forward,  as  his  chief  joy,  to  those 
celestial  habitations  where  he  shall  sin  no  more? 

3.  But  a  much  more  powerful  tie  to  life,  is  the  de- 
sire which  is  natural  to  all  men,  and  which  is  often 
most  strongly  felt  by  the  best  of  men,  of  remaining  to 
provide  for  the  happiness  of  those  who  are  most  de- 
pendent upon  his  protection.  Those  affections  which 
attach  us  to  family  and  friends  far  from  being  weaken- 
ed, are  strengthened  and  refined  by  the  habits  of  vir^ 
tue,  and  the  spirit  of  piety;  so  that  often  they  increase 
to  a  good  man,  in  his  last  moments,  the  difficulty  of 
parting  with  these  tender  objects  of  his  affections; 
with  the  companions  and  partners  of  his  purest  joys, 
with  the  sharers  and  soothers  of  all  his  griefs,  with 
whom  he  has  mingled  his  soul,  and  who  are  become 
the  dearest  portions  of  himself  Ah!  how  hard  the 
trial,  if  he  knows  that  he  must  leave  an  afflicted  and 
unprotected  widow,  orphan  and  helpless  children,  in 
the  midst  of  a  deceitful  and  ensnaring  world.  He  has 
himself  keenly  suffered  from  its  afflictions;  he  has  ex- 
perienced its  coldness,  perhaps  its  enmity,  and  to  pro- 
tect them  from  the  same  ills,  and  ward  the  anguish 
from  their  hearts,  he  would  wilhngly  encounter  alone 
its  severest  assaults,  and  bare  his  own  breast  to  receive 
all  its  shafts.     But  when  he  thinks  of  them,  and  that 


To  depart  and  he  tvith  Christ.  303 

he  can  no  longer  be  their  shield  or  their  guide,  his 
spirit  faints. 

Above  all,  the  vices  which  are  continually  present- 
ed to  youth  in  the  manners  of  the  world;  the  seductions 
which  assail  them,  the  snares  which  encompass  their 
inexperienced  years,  fdl  him  with  afflicting  apprehen- 
sions. If  Heaven  should  prolong  his  life,  he  could 
protect  their  weakness,  and  direct  their  footsteps  in 
the  path  of  virtue;  a  thousand  pangs  he  could  ward  off 
from  their  bosoms;  but  he  is  about  to  leave  them,  he 
knows  not  to  what  lot:  on  earth  he  shall  see  them  no 
more,  and  he  knows  not  if  he  shall  meet  them  in  Hea- 
ven. Ah!  painful  separation!  how  must  it  rend  the 
heart  of  an  affectionate  parent,  husband,  or  friend! 
Ah!  the  pang  which  must  mingle  itself  even  with  the 
hopes  of  heaven  in  the  last  look  which  he  casts  on  these 
precious  objects  of  his  love.  In  the  midst  of  these 
overwhelming  emotions,  however,  tlie  believer  finds 
a  refreshing  consolation  in  the  faithfulness  of  the  di- 
vine promise.  The  mercy  of  the  Lord  is  from  ever- 
lasting to  everlasting  upon  them  that  fear  him,  and  his 
righteousness  unto  children^  s  children.  Leave  thy  father- 
less children,  and  I  will  protect  them,  and  let  thy  ividoivs 
trust  in  me. 

Although  the  love  of  these  dear  connections,  which 
have  so  powerfully  twined  themselves  about  his  heart, 
forms  the  strongest  tie  that  binds  the  believer  to  life, 
yet  the  love  of  God  is,  in  his  breast,  a  superior  prin- 
ciple. Although  his  heart  bleeds  at  the  stroke  which 
separates  him  from  them:  yet,  leaving  them  in  the 
hands  of  a  merciful  Saviour,  he  is  resigned,  and  will- 


304  Desire  of  the  Apostle 

ing  to  go  to  that  land  of  vision,  where  he  shall  more 
clearly  behold  all  the  gracious  designs  of  their  heaven- 
ly Father  toward  them  unfolded,  and  where,  waiting 
for  them,  he  shall  drink  eternal  consolations  from  the 
river  that,  springing  irom  the  hill  oi"  God,  carries  im- 
mortal life  and  joy  through  all  the  regions  of  the  ce- 
lestial Eden.  My  flesh  and  heart,  may  he  say  with  the 
holy  Psalmist,  dothfaint  and  fail,  yet  God  is  the  strength 
of  my  heart  and  my  portion  forever. 

4.  In  the  last  place,  the  language  of  the  text  im- 
plies an  earnest  aspiration  of  soul  to  attain  the  perfect 
vision  of  God,  the  blessed  fruition  of  his  heavenly  in- 
heritance. 

It  is  not  the  language  of  resignation  merely,  that  the 
apostle  speaks:  it  is  the  sighing  of  a  labourer  to  finish 
his  toils  and  be  at  rest — the  anxiety  of  a  traveller  agi- 
tated with  tempests,  and  worn  with  fatigue,  to  find 
again  a  secure  and  settled  home — it  is  the  prayer  of  a 
regenerated  soul  to  escape  from  this  region  of  temp- 
tation and  sin — it  is  the  longing  of  an  exiled  child  to 
return  to  his  father's  presence,  and  to  taste  again  in 
a  father's  love,  those  pure  and  heart-felt  joys  which, 
among  strangers,  he  could  never  find. 

Such  will  frequently  be  the  aspiration,  also,  of  all 
sincere  believers  during  their  passage  through  this  af- 
flicted pilgrimage,  or  as  they  are  approaching  its  se- 
rious and  interesting  termination.  In  God  their  af- 
fections are  centered.  With  him  they  daily  hold  de- 
lightful communion.  But  impeded  by  the  weakness 
of  the  flesh,  and  the  obscurities  of  sense,  they  often 
have  reason   anxiously   to  exclaim.   Oh  that  I  knew 


To  depart  and  be  with  Christ  305 

where  I  might  find  him!  Oh!  that  God  would  rend  the 
veil  that  hangs  upon  my  mortal  vision!  Oh!  that  the 
time  vj^ere  come  when  I  shall  know  even  as  also  I  am 
known!  when,  released  from  all  earthly  attachments, 
my  soul  may  be  lilled  only  with  God!  And  now,  O 
Lord!  through  all  my  remaining  pilgrimage,  so  help 
me  to  live  above  this  world,  that,  whenever  it  shall  be 
thy  will,  I  may  with  the  holy  apostle  be  ready  and 
willing  and  desire  to  depart  and  be  with  Christ! 

2.  I  now  further  request  your  attention,  for  a  few 
moments,  while  I  point  to  some  of  the  principal  rea- 
sons for  which  a  humble  and  devout  christian  may 
justly  desire,  when  such  is  the  will  of  God,  to  be  ab- 
sent from  the  body  and  present  with  the  Lord.  These 
may  be  reduced  to  a  very  few  and  simple  considera- 
tions. 1.  The  imperfection  of  the  world  viewed  as 
the  portion  of  the  pious  soul.  2.  The  afflictions  with 
which  the  world  abounds.  3.  And  finally,  the  hopes 
of  a  higher  and  immortal  life,  when  the  transient 
scene  of  the  world  shall  have  passed  away. 

The  imperfection  of  the  world  will  weaken  his  mo- 
tives for  continuing  in  it.  Its  manifold  afflictions  will 
render  him  more  willing  to  depart  from  it — And  the 
hope  of  eternal  hfe  beyond  all  its  painful  vicissitudes, 
will  awaken  his  holy  desires  to  take  possession  of  his 
heavenly  inheritance. 

The  imperfection  and  vanity  of  the  world  as  the 
portion  of  a  rational  and  immortal  mind  has,  in  all 
ages,  been  a  fruitful  theme  of  moral  reflection.  And 
the  experience  of  all  who  have  ever  pursued  it  with 
the  greatest  eagerness,  or  enjoyed  it  with  the  great- 

VOL.  I.  R  r 


306  Desire  of  the  Apostle 

est  pleasure  has,  in  the  result,  confirmed  the  humilia* 
ting  testimony  ofthe  sacred  preacher;  vanity  of  vanities, 
all  is  vanity!— FdLY  would  I  be  from  indulging  the  com* 
plainings  of  disappointment,  or  the  mistaken  spirit  of 
ascetic  mortification,  as  if  the  present  state  furnished 
no  sources  of  lawful  enjoyment  to  a  sincere  christian. 
Pleasures  undoubtedly,  of  a  very  elevated  kind,  he  may 
derive  from  the  consolations  of  piety ;  though  greatly  im- 
paired from  the  frailties  of  a  corporeal  and  sinful  na* 
ture,  and  from  our  inadequate  conceptions  ofthe  glory 
of  Cod,  and  the  boundless  mercy  of  the  Redeemer. 
Many  exquisite  satisfactions  he  may  taste  from  the 
temperate  gratification  of  all  the  senses  in  their  proper 
place,  though  from  the  same  sources  often  spring  his 
keenest  pains,  and  his  most  severe  afflictions.  And  plea- 
sures of  a  more  refined  and  exquisite  nature,  he  often 
enjoys  from  the  delightful  sympathies  of  society,  the 
confidential  intercourse  of  friendship,  or  the  tender 
endearments  of  domestic  love.  But,  ah!  how  short 
lived!  and  how  often  the  spring  of  deep  and  exquisite 
suffering!  With  infinite  pain  the  dearest  ties  are  torn 
from  our  hearts.  The  most  cruel  separations  divide  us 
from  those  whom  we  have  most  tenderly  loved,  and 
rend  us  as  it  were  from  ourselves,  till  death  consigns 
them,  one  after  another,  to  the  house  of  silence,  and 
leaves  us,  at  length,  nothing  more  to  wish,  but  to  fol- 
low them. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  happiness  which  the  warmth 
of  our  hearts  had  once  taught  us  to  expect  from  the 
pleasures  of  society,  and  still  more  from  the  sympa- 
thies and  endearments  of  friendship,  is,  but  too  ii-e- 


To  depart  and  he  nnth  Chnst  307 

quently  blasted  by  the  chillness  of  indifference,  and  the 
treachery  of  selfishness.  Suspicions  and  rivalslnps, 
vanity  or  pride,  rise  up  and  poison  the  cup  of  humaa 
felicity.  The  whispers  of  malignity,  the  arts  of  dis- 
ingenuousness,  infuse  jealousies  and  distrust  between 
the  nearest  friends:  and  each,  aware  of  the  insincerity 
of  all,  learns  to  surround  himself  with  an  atmosphere 
of  selfishness,  which  blights  the  early  blossoms  of  so- 
cial happiness.  Hence  few  have  lived  long  in  the  world 
who  have  not  contracted  a  distrust  of  the  world.  And 
often  it  happens  that  the  most  open,  candid,  and  be- 
nevolent hearts,  having  met  the  most  ungrateful  re- 
turns from  a  false  friendship,  are  liable  to  fall  intoth<j 
most  sullen  misanthropy,  and  to  wrap  themselves  up 
in  unsocial  retirement. 

In  what,  indeed,  consists  the  greater  part  of  the 
commerce  of  society.^  A  good  man  finds  in  it  little  be- 
sides associations  for  criminal  pleasure;  parties  of  fri^ 
volity  and  idleness,  comedies  of  ridicule  and  scandal; 
every  thing  that  wounds  the  feelings  of  sincere  piety, 
and  genuine  benevolence.  With  so  many  causes  of 
dissatisfaction  with  the  world,  is  it  wonderful  that  a 
real  disciple  of  Jesus  should  sometimes  sigh  to  h  ave 
its  infected  atmosphere  and  be  at  rest  with  his  Ke- 
deemer.^  Is  it  wonderful  that,  wearied  with  the  insin- 
cerity, the  dissimulation,  and  malevolence  of  mankind, 
he  should  long  to  be  translated  to  that  immortal  so- 
ciety who  are  forever  united  in  the  blissful  charities  of 
Heaven  ? 

2.  I  remark,  in  the  next  place,  that  our  impotence 
to  gratify  the  ardent  thirst  of  divine  knowledge,  ^iwa- 


308  Desire  of  the  Apostle 

kened  in  the  heart  of  a  behever,  by  the  Holy  Spirit, 
may  become  a  powerful  reason  why  he  should  be  will- 
ing to  emerge  from  this  sphere  of  darkness  and  error 
into  the  light  of  his  countenance^  in  which  is  the  per- 
fection of  knowledge,  and  tfie  fullness  of  joy.  The 
thirst  of  knowledge  is  natural  to  man;  but  piety  seeks 
to  turn  this  powerful  propensity  to  the  purposes  of  de- 
votion. It  aspires  to  understand  God  our  Maker,  that 
it  may  more  profoundly  adore  him;  to  form  just  ideas 
of  the  ever  blessed  Redeemer  in  his  eternal  existence; 
in  his  descent  from  Heaven  to  redeem  the  world;  in 
his  reascension  to  his  primitive  glory,  that  it  may  con- 
tinually pour  forth  to  him  the  devout  effusions  of  its 
gratitude  and  love;  it  aspires  to  investigate  the  astonish- 
ing works  of  God,  and  the  awful  mysteries  of  his  pro- 
vidence, that  it  may  derive  from  them  more  abundant 
materials  of  admiration  and  praise.  But,  ah!  how 
small  a  portion  of  his  works  can  we  understand!  Every 
object  which  we  behold,  baffles,  in  a  thousand  ways, 
the  weakness  of  the  human  mind.  With  what  la- 
borious efforts  she  strives  to  enlarge  herself  to  embrace 
the  idea  of  God.  She  would  penetrate  all  her  pow- 
ers with  the  love  of  God  in  Christ.  She  would  mingle 
her  essence  with  that  Being  of  Beings.  In  these 
painful  efforts  to  unite  herself  with  him,  she  would  al- 
most burst  the  dark  and  narrow  sphere  in  which  she 
is  confined.  But  she  is  imprisoned;  she  is  encompassed 
with  thick  clouds,  she  is  oppressed  by  the  weight  and 
the  corruptions  of  the  body;  and  in  submissive  faith, 
is  constrained  to  retire  into  herself,  waiting  till  this 
corruptible  shall  have  put  on  ineorruption. 


To  depart  and  he  ivith  Christ.  309 

But  in  these  ineffectual  endeavours  to  raise  our  na- 
ture to  God,  and  to  mingle  with  that  infinite  fountain  of 
being  and  of  love,  in  these  ardent  but  impotent  de- 
sires to  penetrate  into  the  spiritual  and  eternal  world, 
the  christian  finds  new  reasons  to  be  willing  to  forsake 
this  imperfect  lodgment  where  we  know  only  in  part, 
and  to  look foivvard  with  hope  to  that  higher  condition 
of  existence,  when  that  which  is  perfect  is  come,  and 
all  that  is  in  part  shall  be  done  away;  and  where  we 
shall  no  more  see  thr-ough  a  glass  daikly,  hut  face  to 
face  in  immediate  vision. 

3.  If  the  world  offers  few  enjoyments  which  should 
render  the  sincere  disciple  of  his  Saviour  reluctant  to 
leave  it  at  the  call  of  Heaven:  the  afflictions,  on  the 
other  hand,  with  which  it  abounds,  may  well  reconcile 
him  to  the  stroke  which  parts  the  frail  cord  of  life,  and 
brings  them  all  to  an  eternal  period. 

The  portion  allotted  to  man  from  the  beginning,  was 
labour,  and  toil,  and  sorrow,  till  he  return  to  the  dust 
from  which  he  was  taken.  Innumerable  pains  are 
continually  avenging  upon  him  the  sin  of  human  na- 
ture. And,  in  the  order  of  Divine  Providence,  we  not 
unfrequently  behold  the  most  virtuous  of  mankind 
subjected  to  the  severest  sufferings,  which  constrain 
the  humble  penitent  to  exclaim  with  the  holy  Psalm- 
ist; verily  I  have  cleansed  my  heart  in  vain,  and  loashed 
my  hands  in  innocency;for  all  the  day  long  have  I  been 
plagued,  and  chastened  every  morning. 

But  our  personal  afflictions,  are  far  from  being  the 
only  evils  which  urge  the  behever  to  seek,  beyond  this 
desolate  empire  of  pain,  disease,  and  death,  a  more 


310  Desire  of  the  Apostle 

peaceful  habitation  with  Jesus  Christ  who  has  conquer- 
ed death,  and  opened  the  gates  of  eternal  life.  Our 
sympathies  intimately  unite  us  with  our  fellow  men: 
and  often,  in  the  families  of  our  friends,  do  we  see  one 
desolating  calamity,  or  a  succession  of  afflicting  be- 
reavements, turn  a  pleasant  garden  into  a  disconsolate 
wilderness,  and  impress  a  face  of  mortal  gloom  on  all 
the  prospects  of  life?  How  often  do  we  perceive  those 
who  yesterday  were  at  the  summit  of  the  wheel  of 
earthly  fortune,  to  day  precipitated  to  the  bottom,  and 
plunged  into  the  depths  of  wretchedness?  Here  the 
head  and  stay  of  a  lovely  family  is  removed  from  them; 
and  those  who  were  lately  accustomed  to  competence, 
ease,  and  respect,  are  left  to  want,  to  dependence,  to 
the  cold  neglect  of  the  world,  to  a  melancholy  which 
will  never  cease  to  prey  upon  their  hearts.  Here  you 
behold  Jacob  rending  his  clothes,  and  putting  sackcloth 
on  his  loins,  his  heart  pierced  with  an  inconsolable 
grief  for  the  loss  of  his  beloved  Joseph:  and  though  all 
his  sons  and  his  daughters  rise  up  to  comfort  him,  he  re- 
fuses to  be  comforted,  saying  I  mil  go  down  into  the  grave 
to  my  son  mourning.  Are  these  rare  examples  of  hu- 
man misery?  Far  from  it.  They  are  calamities  which 
every  day  almost  obtrudes  upon  our  sympathy.  What 
is  usually  the  effect  of  long  hfe,  but  to  have  the  heart 
broken  by  breach  after  breach,  till  it  has  hardly  the 
power  of  enjoyment  left?  To  have  one  comfort,  and 
one  friend  after  another  taken,  till  we  are  left  almost 
alone  upon  the  earth,  and  the  world  becomes  to  us, 
a  vast  and  melancholy  solitude.  In  the  midst  of  so 
many,  and  such  deep  afflictions,  how  naturally  does 


To  depart  and  he  with  Christ.  311 

piety  cast  a  longing  look  to  that  land  of  rest  where 
sorrow  and  sighing  shall  flee  away! 

The  catalogue  of  these  evils  1  shall  conclude  with 
one  which,  however  can  be  truly  understood  only  by  a 
soul  fervently  touched  with  the  love  of  God,  and  glowing 
with  zeal  for  the  glory  of  his  Redeemer.  The  sins  that 
are  in  the  world,  the  madness  and  fljlly  of  mankind  who 
seem  eagerly  bent  on  pursuing  their  own  destruction, 
the  desperate  impiety  of  sinners,  who  are  labouring 
to  extend  the  kingdom  of  darkness,  often  occasion  to 
sincere  piety  the  sentiments  of  a  profound  grief  Ri- 
vers of  water,  saith  the  Psalmist,  run  down  mine  eyes 
because  tJiey  keep  not  thy  laiv. 

But  if  the  humble  disciple  of  Christ  is  affected  with 
grief  at  being  a  witness  of  the  sins  of  others,  much 
more  sensibly  will  he  be  afflicted  by  the  evils  which 
lodge  in  his  own  heart.  The  apostle  Paul  speaks  in 
the  name,  and  addresses  himself  to  the  feelings  of  every 
christian,  when  he  complains; — Oh!  ivretched  man  that 
I  am!  who  shall  deliver  me  frorr  tlie  body  of  this  death? 

Is  it  surprising,  then,  that,  under  the  full  and  peni- 
tent impression,  of  these  sentiments,  he  should  ardent- 
ly desire  to  arrive  at  that  state  of  perfection  in  which 
he  shall  know  God  in  a  degree  infinitely  more  clear, 
and  serve  him  in  a  manner  infinitely  more  complete 
than  he  can  do  in  the  present  life?  Is  it  surprising 
that  he  should  long  to  quit  the  church  below,  with  its 
obscure  ritual  of  types  and  symbols,  for  the  sublime 
and  immortal  devotions  of  the  temple  above;  this  cold, 
and  dark,  and  imperfect  region  obscured  with  the 
mists  of  ignorance,  and  the  clouds  of  human  corrup- 


312  Desire  of  the  Apostle 

tion,  for  those  habitations  of  everlasting  hght  and  truth 
where  he  shall  behold  tlie  Sun  of  Righteousness  in  all 
his  glory? 

For  the  strongest  of  all  reasons  for  which  a  true  be- 
liever should  ever  desire  to  be  absent  from  the  body, 
is  the  hope  of  possessing  that  immortal  inheritance 
which  the  gospel  reveals  to  an  enlightened  faith.  In- 
stead of  being  surprised,  therefore,  that  in  the  closing 
scene  of  life,  he  should  desire  to  depart  and  be  with 
Christ,  may  we  not  ratiier  wonder  that  this  devout 
aspiration  is  not  constant,  and  almost  impatient.  It 
is  the  ardent  wisJi  of  a  traveller  wearied  with  inces- 
sant agitations,  to  find  a  secure  and  settled  rest — of 
an  exiled  child,  who  feels  himself  a />?ig"nm  and  stran- 
ger upon  earth,  to  arrive  at  a  settled  home,  and  return 
to  the  embraces  of  a  father's  love.  Blessed  are  the  dead 
who  die  in  the  Lord,  for  they  rest  from  their  labours, 
and  their  ivorks  do  follow  them. 

But  the  blessedness  of  Heaven  consists,  not  mere- 
ly in  exemption  from  the  sorrows  of  the  present  Hfe, 
but  in  the  possession  of  a  glory  which  eye  hath  not  seen, 
and  which  it  has  not  entered  into  the  heart  of  man  to 
conceive.  But,  oh!  in  what  language  shall  we  de- 
scribe; by  what  images  represent  that  celestial  city,  the 
distant  outlines  of  which  could  only  be  sketched  by 
the  Spirit  of  inspiration.-^  Yet,  in  those  happy  moments 
in  which  faith  can  attain  even  a  faint  vision  of  that 
land  of  peace,  all  the  evils  of  hfe  are  forgotten  in  the 
blissful  prospect.  All  the  splendid  temptations  of  the 
world  fade,  as  the  stars  are  lost  in  the  radiance  of  the 
day. 


To  depart  and  he  mth  Christ.  313 

Often  have  these  principles  displayed  a  divine  pow- 
er in  minds  constitutionally  the  most  feeble  and  timid, 
and  in  circumstances  the  most  formidable  to  human 
nature.  Often  have  they  enabled  the  martyr  to  tri- 
umph in  the  midst  of  flames;  and  often  have  they 
shed  a  glory  on  the  dying  bed  of  the  saint.  Happy 
the  humble  and  pious  soul  who,  in  descending  into  the 
valley  oftJie  shadow  of  death,  can  say,  with  the  apostle, 
I  am  now  ready  to  be  offered  up,  and  the  time  of  my 
departure  is  at  hand;  I  have  fought  a  good  fight,  I  have 
finished  my  course,  I  have  kept  the  faith.  Henceforth, 
there  is  laid  up  for  me  a  crown  of  rigliteousness,  which 
the  Lord  the  righteous  Judge  shall  give  me  at  that 
day;  and  not  to  me  only,  but  to  all  them  that  love  his 
appearing. 

Blessed  are  the  dead  who  die  in  the  Lord!  Yea, 
saith  the  Spirit,  that  they  may  rest  from  their  labours, 
and  their  works  do  follow  them!  Amen!  Even  so 
Gome  Lord  Jesus! 


VOL.   1.  s  s 


RELIGION  NECESSARY  TO  NATIONAL  PROSPERITY. 


I,  the  Lord  thy  God,  am  a  jealous  God,  visiting^  the  iniquities  of  the  fa- 
thers upon  the  children,  unto  the  third  and  fourth  generation  of  them 
that  hate  me,  and  showing  mere}  to  thousands  of  those  that  love  me 
and  keep  mj'  commandments.     Exod.  xt.  5,  6. 

The  immediate  government  exercised  by  God  over 
the  people  of  Israel,  was  the  visible  model  of  that  se- 
cret Providence  which  presides  over  all  the  nations  of 
the  earth.  The  text  discloses  one  of  the  most  certain 
and  invariable  rules  according  to  which  the  divine  ad- 
ministration is  conducted;  which  is,  that  the  prevalence 
of  virtuous  manners  among  any  people,  and  their  re- 
spect to  the  institutions  of  religion,  is  usually  connected 
with  national  prosperity;  and  on  the  other  hand  that 
impiety,  and  a  general  di -^solution  of  the  pubhc  man- 
ners prepares  the  way  for  a  succession  of  national  ca- 
lamities, which  are  followed,  at  length,  by  some  disas- 
trous and  fatal  revolution. — Various  interpretations 
have  been  given  to  this  passage,  and  various  attempts 
made  to  illustrate  and  vindicate  the  principle  involved 
in  it,  expressed  by  visiting  the  iniquities  of  the  fathers 
upon  the  children;  but  any  application  of  it  which  has 
ever  been  made  to  the  case  of  individuals,  and  their 
offspring,  is  evidently  unfounded,  and  wholly  unsup- 
ported by  the  state  of  the  world.  For,  neither  the  suf- 
ferings of  the  posterity  of  vicious  men,  nor  the  pros- 
perity of  those  who  have  descended  from  pious  ances- 
tors have  verified  the  application  of  this  sanction  to 


Religion  necessm^,  ^c.  315 

them  in  the  extent  which  the  terms  obviously  imply 
We  do  not  always  see  the  childreii  of  the  most  profli- 
gate miserable  to  the  third  and  fourth  generation;  still 
less  do  we  see  the  descendents  of  the  virtuous  and 
pious  invariably  happy.      The  strained  explanations 
which  conjmentators  are  obliged  to  employ,  and  ihe 
exceptions  they  must  necessarily  admit  in  order  to  sup- 
port this  interpretation,  demonstrate  that  the  object  of 
the  Divine  Legislator  has  been  wholly  misconceived. 
But  when  we  regard  it  as  indicating  a  general  princi- 
ple in  the  government  of  divine  Providence  over  the 
nations  of  the  earth,  no  fact  is  more  certain,  or  more 
decisively  confirmed  by  the  universal  testimony  of  his- 
tory; that  righteousness  exalteth  a  nation^  but  sin  is  the 
reproach  of  any  people;  which  last  expression  in  the 
sacred  scriptures,  signifies  the  righteous  chastisements, 
and,  often,  the  total  excision  inflicted  by  God  upon  a 
sinful  generation;  when  he  visits  the  iniquities  of  the 
fathers  upon  the  children  to  the  full  accomplishment 
of  his  just  displeasure.     When  a  nation  has  abandon- 
ed religion,  the  firmest  basis  of  civil  government  is  dis-  . 
solved.  Voluptuousness  and  effeminacy ,  avarice  and  pro- 
digality, a  restless  ambition,  dark  treacheries,  and  a  uni- 
versal disregard  of  justice,  which  are  the  natural  conse- 
quences of  a  general  impiety,  accumulate  every  spe- 
cies of  misery  on  a  wretched  people,  forsaken  of  God, 
and  lost  to  virtue.     The  precious  ties  of  society  are 
broken;  the  national  imbecility  invites  insult  and  inva- 
sion from  abroad;  it  perishes  under  a  fatal  internal 
weakness, — and  hastens  to  sink  them  in  irretrievable 
ruin.     Such  is  the  course  of  divine  Providence  over 


316  Religion  necessary  to 

the  great  communities  of  the  world;  such,  according 
to  the  universal  testimony  of  experience,  is  the  rapid, 
and  fatal  career  of  impious  and  corrupted  nations;  and 
such,  appears  to  me,  to  be  the  genuine  interpretation 
of  this  divine  denunciation,  which  has  commonly  been 
so  ill  explained.  J| 

If  it  be  asked  how  this  great  political  doctrine  can 
be  derived  from  a  law  which  is  aimed  primarily  against 
idolatry;  and  what  connexion  exists  between  this  law, 
and  the  sanction  with  which  it  is  armed?  To  answer 
ttiis  inquiry,  it  is  necessary  to  recur  to  the  constitution 
of  the  government  of  Israel.  Being  administered  by 
God  himself,  through  the  oracles  pronounced  from  the 
sanctuary  of  the  Holy  of  Holies,  it  has  not  improperly 
been  denominated  a  theocratic  institution,  in  which 
Jehovah  was  regarded  as  the  immediate  ruler  and 
king.  Idolatry,  therefore,  in  that  nation,  is  not  only 
to  be  considered  as  treason  against  the  commonwealth 
of  Israel,  but  was,  in  truth,  the  public  and  open  dere- 
liction of  God;  the  abandonment  of  their  religion,  and 
the  introduction  of  all  that  corruption  of  manners 
which  is  the  natural  consequence  of  the  utter  destitu- 
tion of  religious  principle.  This  law,  therefore,  hav- 
ing an  immediate  reference  to  the  establishment  of 
the  national  religion  and  government  of  Israel,  its  sanc- 
tions, also,  in  order  to  their  right  interpretation,  should 
be  regarded  as  having  chiefly  a  national  aspect.  They 
rest,  however,  upon  principles,  in  the  moral  govern- 
ment of  the  world,  which  are  common  to  all  the  great 
communities  of  mankind.  When  a  nation  has  become 
conspicuous  for  an  open  and  avowed  neglect  and  con- 


JVational  Prosperity.  317 

tempt  of  the  principles  and  institutions  of  religion,  and 
for  those  profligate  vices  which  are  the  natural  conse- 
quences of  impiety,  it  is  hastening  to  be  chastised  by 
those  direful  calamities  which  usually  attend  the  de- 
cline £^nd  fall  of  nations.  Almighty  God  visits  upon 
the  guilty  inhabitants  their  iniquities,  with  the  iniqui- 
ties of  their  fathers,  to  the  third  and  fourth  generation; 
and  the  accumulated  sum  of  their  crimes  and  punish- 
ments sinks  them  in  deep  and  irretrievable  perdition. 
Do  you  ask  again,  where  is  the  justice  of  this  order? 
and  if  it  does  not  involve  a  principle  inconsistent  with 
the  benignity  of  the  divine  nature,  and  unworthy  of 
the  Father  and  Judge  of  the  universe?  No,  christians! 
it  is  a  principle  immutably  ingrafted  into  the  system  of 
nature.  And  the  language  of  the  text  points  to  a  fact 
in  the  moral  order  of  the  universe,  and  in  the  conduct 
of  Divine  Providence  over  the  nations,  acknowledged 
by  all  wise  and  good  men,  and  verified  by  the  whole 
history  of  the  world.  Obvious  it  is,  however  we  may 
explain  the  equity  of  the  arrangement,  that  children 
every  where  suffer  from  the  vices,  the  follies,  and  even 
the  misfortunes  of  their  parents.  And  it  is  the  infal- 
lible order  of  human  society,  arising  out  of  the  consti- 
tution of  man,  that,  when  nations  have  sunk  into  spe- 
culative or  practical  atheism,  and  the  pubhc  manners 
have  grown  generally  corrupt,  each  race  becomes  by 
a  natural  progression,  more  profligate  than  the  past 
The  crimes  and  disorders  in  each  preceding  genera- 
tion become  only  the  foundation  of  new  crimes  and 
disorders  in  the  following,  till,  in  a:  *few  descents,  an 
impious  and  abandoned  progeny  is  ripe  for  a  terrible 


318  Religion  necessary  to 

and  accumulated  destruction.  The  limitation  of  the 
sacred  writer  to  the  third  and  fourth  generation  will 
be  found  to  correspond  with  the  usual  course  of  the 
decline  and  extinction  of  empires.  After  they  have 
fallen  into  gross  impiety  and  corruption  of  manners, 
seldom  do  they  pass  that  period  before  they  suffei; 
some  disastrous  revolution,  or  before  they  cease  to  be 
a  nation. 

On  the  other  hand,  where  have  we  seen  a  people, 
under  the  full  influence  of  religious  and  moral  princi- 
ple, in  the  full  vigor  of  frugal  and  virtuous  habits, 
which  has  fallen  a  prey  to  internal  disorders,  or  to  for- 
eign domination?  While  they  love  God,  and  keep  his 
commandments,  the  blessing  of  Heaven  will  be  upon 
them;  their  prosperity  will  be  coextended  with  the 
reign  of  virtue  and  religion  in  the  midst  of  them. 

Having  brought  the  subject  to  this  point,  1  lay  down 
the  following  proposition,  as  resulting  from  the  prece- 
ding illustrations,  that  the  belief  of  the  principles  of  re- 
ligion, and  the  practice  of  its  duties,  under  some  form 
which  is  calculated  profoundly  to  impress  the  public 
mind  with  the  sentiment  of  God,  and  the  righteous  go- 
vernment of  his  Providence  over  human  affairs,  is  es- 
sential to  the  prosperity  of  nations;  whereas  national 
impiety  becomes,  at  once,  the  parent  and  the  nurse  of 
disorders  and  crimes  which  hasten  their  approach  to 
destruction. 

The  principle,  then,  which  I  have  laid  down,  and 
which  1  suppose  to  be  embraced  in  the  text,  derives 
force  from  the  opinions  of  all  wise  legislators;  and  I  may 
add,  the  unequivocal  testimony  of  experience.     We 


JVational  Prosperity.  319 

need  but  open  the  pages  of  antiquity:  the  historians, 
the  poets,  the  legislators,  the  philosophers  oi"  all  na- 
tions concur  in  one  sentiment,  that  religion  forms  the 
only  sohd  basis  of  states.  It  is  but  in  very  recent 
times  that  this  maxim  has  ever  been  railed  in  question. 
In  every  region  of  the  earth,  priests  have  been  coeval 
with  magistrates;  and  in  the  earliest  periods  of  the 
world,  we  often  find  the  sacred  united  with  the  regal 
functions.  The  wandering  tribes  of  barbarians  could 
never  have  been  reduced  to  social  order,  and  softened 
to  civilized  manners  by  any  power  less  than  that  of 
religion. 

On  such  minds  laws  could  have  but  a  feeble  opera- 
tion, and  abstracted  principles  of  civil  policy,  so  op- 
posed to  all  their  former  ideas  and  habits,  could  never 
have  induced  them  by  any  anticipation  of  the  benefits 
of  civil  order  to  renounce  the  wild  liberty  of  their  na- 
tive forests. — As  examples  of  what  took  place  in  all 
other  nations,  let  me  recall  to  your  mind  those  illus- 
trious priests,  who  first  civilized  Boeotia  and  Thrace.'* 
putting  the  principles  of  their  moral,  civil,  and  religious 
institutions  into  verse,  they  subdued  the  savage  spirits 
of  the  natives  by  the  authority  of  religion,  and  soften- 
ed them  by  the  united  influence  of  poetry  and  song. 
The  more  we  examine  this  subject  by  the  purest  and 
best  lights  of  antiquity,  the  more  we  shall  be  convin- 
ced that  to  religion  alone  the  world,  in  the  beginning 
was  indebted  not  only  for  its  social  order,  but  for  its 
arts,  its  morals,  and  the  elements  of  its  science. 

i  have  said  that  the  proposition  1  have  laid  down  de- 
rives confirmation  li*om  experience  as  well  as  from  the 


320  Religion  necessary  to 

concurrent  testimony  of  the  wiser  portion  of  all  nations^ 
Where  do  we  find  a  people  in  history  who  have  aban- 
doned religion,  and  become  sunk,  in  consequence,  in- 
to effeminate  and  profligate  manners,  who  have  not 
been,  at  the  same  time,  treading  on  the  brink  of  des- 
truction. To  this  cause  Polybius  ascribes  the  loss  of 
Roman  liberty — to  this  cause  Greece  having  become 
effeminate  and  factious,  owed  her  subjugation  to  Rome 
— this  was  the  fatal  cause  which  subjected  impious 
and  idolatrous  Israel  to  a  long  and  distressful  captivity 
to  the  empire  of  Babylon — and  this  finally  extermina- 
ted them  from  the  land  which,  under  the  favour  and 
protection  of  Jehovah^  they  had  enjoyed  for  so  many 
ages.  And,  have  we  not  recently  seen,  in  a  great  na- 
tion, a  bold  and  impious  attempt  to  govern  without  re- 
ligion, by  the  speculations  of  philosophy,  and  the  brute 
force  of  violent  and  momentary  laws.-^  What  has  been 
the  result?  Bursting  from  order,  she  plunged  into  an 
abyss  of  crimes.  Philosophy  herself  perished  in  the 
tempest  which  she  had  raised;  and  religion  has  been 
again  invoked  to  restore  justice  and  peace  to  an  un- 
happy people.  Her  mild  but  powerful  voice  alone 
could  calm  the  raging  of  the  storm,  which  despotism 
found  herself  unable  to  control,  and  say  to  the  waves 
of  that  furious  sea,  peace!  be  still! 

So  strongly  were  the  philosophers  of  Greece  and 
Rome  persuaded  of  the  connexion  of  religion  with  pub- 
lic happiness  that,  though  far  from  being  themselves 
believers  in  the  popular  superstitions,  they  esteemed  it 
essential  to  the  interest  of  the  republic  that  the  reve- 
rence of  the  people  for  these  forms  should  be  preser- 


JVational  Prosperity,  321 

ved  for  the  sake  of  that  awful  sentiment  of  religion 
connected  with  them,  which  threw  its  majesty  over  the 
laws,  and  imparted  its  energy  to  the  great  principles 
of  morals. 

The  necessity  of  religion  to  the  interests  of  civil  so- 
ciety arises  out  of  the  necessity  of  morals.  Without 
religion,  on  what  could  the  public  morals  rest?  On 
the  laws?  The  laws  depend  on  morals  for  their  own 
force. — On  reason?  Are  the  abstractions  and  doubt- 
ful conclusions  of  reason  able  to  combat  with  the  force 
of  the  passions?  Were  reason  a  more  accurate  stand- 
ard and  efficient  principle  of  duty  than  it  is,  I  hesitate 
not  to  maintain  that,  where  the  mind,  in  its  moral  rea- 
sonings, is  not  under  the  commanding  influence  of  an 
authority  believed  to  be  divine,  its  refinements,  its  ab- 
stractions, its  deductions  will  forever  be  only  more  in- 
genious vindications  of  its  own  passions.  Will  politi- 
cians, then,  rely  on  the  native  sentiments  of  justice, 
of  temperance,  of  chastity  in  the  human  heart,  to  give 
effect  to  those  laws  which  are  most  necessary  for  the 
order  and  happiness  of  society?  I  acknowledge  the 
existence  of  these  sentiments;  and  will,  farther,  main- 
tain that  all  the  principles  of  natural  morality,  in  the 
popular  mind,  are  the  dictates  of  feeling  rather  than 
the  results  of  reasoning.  But,  as  they  exist  in  nature 
they  are  vague  and  indefinite.  It  is  religion  which, 
impressing  a  divine  authority  on  the  sentiments  of  na- 
ture, its  moral  instincts  and  feelings,  gives  clearness 
and  precision  to  all  the  laws  of  duty.  By  reducing 
them  to  a  few  simple  and  positive  precepts,  it  reaches, 
by  a  single  word,  an  end  which  could  hardly  be  at- 

VOL.  I.  T  t 


S22  Religion  tiecessary  to 

tained  by  volumes  of  disquisitions.  Thou  shall  not 
steal — Thou  shall  not  commit  adultery — Thou  shall  not 
bear  false  ivitness  against  thy  neighbour — Nay,  entering 
into  the  very  fountains  of  action  in  the  heart,  thou 
shall  not  covet,  or  extend  thy  desires  to  any  of  the  pos- 
sessions of  thy  neighbour.  What  a  circle  would  be 
necessary  to  establish  these  principles  by  reason?  And 
to  how  many  exceptions,  would  they  constantly  be  lia- 
ble! By  one  word,  religion  determines  the  rule,  and 
cuts  off  all  the  modifications  and  evasions  of  the  pas- 
sions. When  the  question  is  to  practise  all  our  duties, 
as  men  and  citizens,  could  any  cold  and  general  con- 
siderations of  political  convenience  produce  obedience 
to  them  in  opposition  to  those  warm  impulses  which 
are  continually  urging  men  to  their  violation?  Does  it 
not  require  all  the  majesty, — does  it  not  require  all 
the  sublime  motives, — does  it  not  require,  if  I  may 
speak  so,  the  omniscience  of  religion,  which  no  secre- 
sy  can  escape,  which  no  deception  can  elude,  effectu- 
ally to  enforce  them?  Religion  has  a  power  which  no 
other  considerations  possess,  by  entering  into  the  heart, 
and  rectifying  its  principles,  and  by  arresting  the  very 
beginnings  of  vice  in  its  desires  and  intentions.  Where 
religion  is  respected,  and  virtuous  moral  habits  are  es- 
tablished under  its  influence,  the  seeds  of  justice,  of 
civil  order,  and  obedience  to  the  laws,  are  already 
sown  in  the  heart. 

If  reason  and  political  convenience  are  the  only 
foundations  of  obedience  to  the  laws,  will  not  every  ci- 
tizen be  disposed  to  examine  "them  by  the  narrow 
scale  of  his  own  understanding?    Will  he  not  be  dis- 


jyatimial  Prosperity,  323 

posed  to  make  his  own  feelings  of  convenience  the  test 
of  his  duties  to  the  pubhc?  Have  the  mass  of  citi- 
zens, and  those  too  who  are  placed  in  the  most  disad- 
vantageous positions  in  society,  comprehension  of  mind 
sufficient  to  combine  the  general  interests  of  a  nation? 
Can  they  be  supposed  to  have  that  high  regard  to  an 
abstracted  idea  of  public  good,  which  will  dispose  them 
patiently  to  sacrifice  to  it  their  private  feelings  of  hu- 
miliation and  want,  while  others  seem  to  reap  exclu- 
sively all  the  benefits  of  society? — But  do  your  philo- 
sophic pohticians  rely  for  obedience  to  the  laws,  in 
the  mass  of  the  people,  on  their  native  sentiments  of 
justice?  What  then!  does  the  actual  state  of  pohtical 
order,  and  civil  justice  in  any  country,  perfectly  coin- 
cide with  the  natural  sentiments  of  eqnity  in  the  popu- 
lar mind?  Will  the  poor  forcibly  perceive  the  justice 
of  that  order  in  which,  by  the  effects  of  time,  and  the 
operation  of  the  laws,  indolence,  imbecility,  and  vice, 
have  come  into  the  possession  of  the  most  enviable 
stations  in  society,  and  have  amassed  together  the 
greatest  portion  of  wealth,  which  no  labours  and  no 
merits  can  wrest  out  of  their  hands,  or  even  share  with 
them?  No,  the  sentiments  of  justice,  as  it  exists  in 
the  minds  of  the  people,  would  militate  against  the 
views  of  the  legislator;  and,  without  the  control  of  a 
divine  power,  would  rather  impel  the  multitude  to  per- 
petual revolutions,  and  reorganizations  of  the  state. — 
On  the  other  hand,  religion  assumes  the  laws  already 
existing,  and  recognizing  the  authority  from  which 
they  emanate,  enjoins  obedience  to  them.  While  she 
invigorates  the  sentiments  of  justice  in  the  heart,  she. 


824  Religion  necessary  to 

at  the  same  time,  associates  them  with  the  rules  of 
justice  and  order  established  in  the  state,  and  impres- 
ses the  awful  seal  of  her  authority  both  on  the  laws, 
and  on  those  sacred  sources  from  which  they  are  le- 
gally authorized  to  flow.  With  silent  majesty  she  pre- 
sides over  the  peace  of  the  republic,  with  an  influence 
infinitely  more  powerful  than  that  of  the  laws  them- 
selves.— Will  these  same  pohticians,  in  the  next  place, 
rely  on  the  rigor  of  tribunals  to  supply  the  defect  of 
moral  principle.^ — In  vain;  for,  without  virtue  the  tri- 
bunals are  impotent.  The  efficacy  of  laws  depends 
upon  opinion.  And  impiety  soon  breaks  down  all  the 
barriers  which  restrain  the  indulgence  of  vice,  and 
impairs  the  moral  springs  which  give  energy  to  the 
laws. 

Impiety  is  purely  and  absolutely  selfish.  And,  if 
there  be  no  God,  wifl  not  his  own  indulgence  be,  to 
each  man,  his  chief  good? — the  centre  to  which  he 
will  point  all  his  actions?  If  there  is  no  moral  law,  no 
judge,  no  future  state  of  being,  why  should  we  not  de- 
vour the  present  moment  which  alone  is  ours?  why 
should  not  sensual  pleasure  be  our  only  good?  why 
should  we  submit  to  the  painful  self-denials,  the  .use- 
less sacrifices  of  virtue?  Why  should  the  poor  man 
permit  the  rich  to  enjoy  unmolested  all  the  benefits  of 
society?  Why  should  he  not  with  a  bold  hand,  equa- 
lize their  conditions?  Why  should  the  voluptuary  ab- 
stain from  the  delicate  honors  of  chastity?  Or  why 
should  chastity  disdainfully  reject  his  pursuit?  Why 
should  not  all,  with  one  consent,  plunge  into  those  bru- 
tal pleasures  which  alone  are  worthy  of  a  sensual  na- 


National  Prospetity.  325 

ture? — pleasures  which  dissolve  the  bands  of  society, 
effeminate  and  weaken  the  public  force,  and,  absorbing 
every  thing  in  the  vortex  of  self,  abandon  the  care  of 
the  public  interest,  and  fill  the  nation  with  assassina- 
tions, murders,  adulteries,  incests,  unnatural  crimes, 
and  all  the  basest  and  most  horrible  vices.  Such  have 
ever  been  the  fruits  of  impiety  where  it  has  infected 
the  mass  of  any  people; — such  has  been  its  tendency 
to  national  prostration  of  manners,  and  to  national 
ruin. 

One  benefit  of  a  public  and  positive  religion,  and 
that  far  from  being  the  least  important,  is  its  impres- 
sing, by  sacred  rites  and  forms,  the  principles  and  ha- 
bits of  piety  and  virtue  profoundly  on  the  heart.  If 
man  were  purely  an  intellectual  being,  ceremonies 
and  rites  would  be  useless;  perhaps  they  would  only 
clog  and  encumber  the  active  and  fervid  energies  of 
the  soul.  But,  constituted  as  he  is,  the  heart  must  be 
seized  through  the  senses,  and  the  imagination.  The 
influence  of  principles  will  soon  evaporate  unless  they 
are  fixed  and  strengthened  by  form.  Weak  is  that 
mind,  and  ignorant  of  the  true  principles  of  human 
nature,  which  affects  to  despise  the  rites  and  forms  of 
rehgion;  which  is  not,  on  the  contrary,  deeply  impres- 
sed by  them. — But  what  institution  can  be  more  fa- 
vourable to  virtue,  to  civility,  to  humanity,  than  that  of 
the  Sabbath?  In  the  church  men  meet  in  the  name 
of  God  to  recognize  their  common  fraternity.  Every 
social  affection  is  cultivated,  every  unsocial  passion  is 
repressed  by  the  very  ideas  of  the  place  where  they 
are  assembled,  by  the  instructions  which  are  received. 


S26  Religion  necessary  to 

and  the  objects  presented  to  them  in  the  house  of  God. 
The  most  important  truths  are  brought  down  to  the 
level  of  the  weakest  understanding  by  the  simplicity  of 
the  gospel;  and  they  are  brought  profoundly  home  to 
every  bosom  by  the  authority  of  God,  in  whose  name 
they  are  published,  and  by  the  grandeur  of  the  hopes 
and  fears  of  religion.  If  then  society  is  governed  more 
by  manners  than  by  laws;  if  laws  themselves  derive 
their  principal  force  from  the  good  morals  and  virtu- 
ous habits  of  the  people,  of  what  importance,  even  in 
a  civil  view,  are  the  public  institutions  of  religion! — 
On  the  other  hand,  what  instructors  would  philoso- 
phers prove  .^  Of  what  instructions  would  the  people 
be  capable,  if  they  did  not  come  to  them  clothed  in  the 
simple  precepts,  and  sanctioned  by  the  sacred  authori- 
ty of  religion.^  The  experiment  has  been  tried  in  a 
great  nation  which  put  itself  into  the  hands  of  the  phi- 
losophers, to  be  moulded  by  them  according  to  their 
fancied  ideas  of  perfection.  What  has  been  the  effect 
of  this  trial?  Hear  it  from  the  people  themselves — 
hear  it  from  the  universal  voice  of  all  their  best  and 
wisest  men  assembled  in  the  general  council  of  the  de- 
partments.— "  We  find,  say  they,  there  can  be  no  in- 
struction without  education,  and  no  education  without 
morals,  and  no  morals  without  religion.  The  instruc- 
tion of  the  last  ten  years  has  been  of  no  effect,  because  it 
has  been  separated  from  religion.  Children  have  been 
let  loose  to  a  most  alarming  state  of  vagrancy.  Desti- 
tute of  any  idea  of  the  Divinity,  they  have  grown  up 
without  any  true  notions  of  justice  and  injustice. 
Hence  have  ensued  among  us  savage  and  barbarous 


JVational  Prosperity.  S21 

manners,  and  the  mild  and  polished  French  are  in 
danger  of  becoming  a  ferocious  people." — Such  are 
the  ideas  which  have  resulted  in  a  great  and  enlighten- 
ed nation  from  a  decisive,  experiment  made  on  the 
principles  of  this  national  irreligion. 

From  every  view  which  we  can  take  of  the  subject, 
this  conclusion  continually  meets  us,  that  religion  is 
absolutely  necessary  to  the  peace,  the  ordei",  the  solid 
interests,  the  durable  prosperity  of  a  nation.* 

What  then  is  the  conclusion  which  we  should  draw 
from  the  preceding  illustrations.?  That  religion  is  the 
only  solid  bat>is  of  morals,  and  of  the  republic.  On 
that  people  the  blessing  of  God  will  rest  among  whom 
religion  continues  to  maintain  its  practical  influence. 
He  has  so  laid  the  plan  of  divine  Providence,  and  ar- 
ranged the  moral  course  of  things,  that  piety  and  vir- 
tue lay  the  surest  foundations  of  social  happiness  and 
civil  order;  vice  and  irreligion  infuse  into  the  state  the 
principles  of  disorder  and  ruin.  Need  we  recur  to  his- 

*  Will  it  be  said  that  relig-ion  tends,  on  the  one  hand,  to  superstition, . 
and  on  the  other  to  fanaticism — that  superstition  debases  hnman  nature, 
that  fanaticism  disturbs  civil  society?  I  answer,  that  religion  does  not  ne- 
cessarily lead  to  the  one,  or  the  other.  If  we  find  it  sometimes  connected 
with  superstition,  superstition  itself  is  preferable  to  atheism,  a  cold  and 
selfish  principle  which  destroys  all  certainty  or  oblig-ation  in  morals; 
which  first  relaxes,  and  finally  bursts  asunder  the  bands  of  society.  If  re- 
ligious zeal  sometimes  kindles  into  fanaticism,  it  is  a  fervor  which  soon 
spends  its  force,  if  it  is  not  unjustly  opposed,  and  the  human  mind,  in  that 
case  speedily  returns  from  its  highest  paroxysms  to  its  natural  and  reason- 
able tone.  Fanaticism,  however,  is  not  peculiar  to  religion.  It  is  a  flame 
of  the  soul  which  may  be  kindled  by  any  strong  public  passion.-  There 
are  fanatics  in  literature;  there  are  fanatics  in  politics;  and  have  we  not 
seen  that  there  are  fanatics  even  in  atheism,  infinitely  more  dreadful  than 
all  others.'' 


328  Religion  necessary  to 

tory,  the  whole  train  of  which  demonstrates  these  in- 
fallible and  experimental  conclusions?  The  conse- 
quence is  involved  in  the  nature  of  things.  Public 
virtue  rears  impregnable  barriers  against  internal 
tyranny  and  foreign  domination,  and  plants  the  most 
immovable  foundations  against  the  tempests  of  revo- 
lution. "Blessed  is  that  people  whose  God  is  the 
Lord." 

But,  when  the  ties  of  religion  are  once  broken  from 
the  mind,  all  the  most  effectual  restraints  of  moral  prin- 
ciple are  instantly  dissolved;  public  sentiment  is  ab- 
sorbed in  private  interest — public  virtue  is  lost.  Sen- 
suality insulates  every  citizen;  he  has  no  country  but  self; 
all  the  energies  of  patriotism  are  enfeebled;  and  voluptu- 
ousness, in  its  progress,  creates  a  base  servility  of  soul 
which  is  prepared  to  submit  to  any  master  who  will  fa- 
vour its  indolence,  and  afford  it  the  means  of  indulging 
its  effeminate  pleasures.  Mutual  faith  is  perished— =- 
vows  are  broken  without  scruple;  for  what  remains 
to  enforce  their  obligation.^  Deceit  and  treachery 
are  but  ordinary  means  to  accomplish  unworthy  ends. 
Lust,  jealousy,  and  dastardly  revenge  disturb  the  or- 
der and  destroy  the  happiness  of  society.  When  man- 
ners have  arrived  at  this  stage  of  degeneracy,  they  can 
then  be  purged  only  by  the  destructive  power  of  a  for- 
eign master,  or  by  some  dreadful  internal  and  extermi- 
nating revolution.— Such  has  ever  been  the  ultimate  pro- 
gression of  national  dereliction  of  morals  and  religion 
— republics  have  fallen  a  prey  to  internal  tyranny,  em- 
pires to  foreign  conquest.  To  cite  to  you  proofs  of 
this  truth  would  be  to  repeat  the  records  of  universal 


JVational  Prosperity.  329 

history.  Nor  is  it  applicable  to  nations  only,  but  is  illus- 
trated in  the  fortunes  of  individual  families.  Profligacy 
of  manners,  poisoning  the  very  fountains  of  life,  a  vi- 
cious and  debilitated  race  becomes  extinct  in  a  few 
generations. — This  is  the  curse  which  God  has  inflict- 
ed on  practical  atheism,  and  its  constant  companion, 
extreme  corruption  of  manners.  He  has  so  laid  the 
plan  of  his  providence  over  the  world,  that  the  course 
of  nature  shall  avenge  the  violated  majesty  of  his  law, 
and  become  itself,  the  minister  of  his  justice.  When  uni- 
versal depravity  of  morals  has  invaded  a  people,  each 
race  becomes,  by  obvious  causes,  more  corrupted  than 
the  last;  the  evils  of  the  preceding  are  still  accumula- 
ted upon  that  which  follows,  and  seldom,  as  I  have  be- 
fore said,  does  the  third,  or  the  fourth  generation  pass 
away  till  they  are  ripe  for  the  exterminating  judgments 
of  Heaven.  Thus  does  a  righteous  and  jealous  God 
visit  the  iniquities  of  the  fathers  upon  the  children  to  the 
third  and  fourth  generation  of  those  that  hate  him. 

In  the  conclusion  of  this  discourse,  let  us  briefly  re- 
view the  state  of  our  own  country.  Considering  the 
recent  origin  of  the  American  nation,  have  we  not  just 
cause  to  deplore  the  declension  of  religion?  Is  not  the 
holy  zeal,  and  the  primitive  disciphne  of  the  churches 
of  all  denominations  lamentably  relaxed  ?  Is  not  domes- 
tic education  and  government  reproachfully  neglect- 
ed, to  the  infinite  injury  of  the  public  morals,  and  the 
hazard  of  a  total  dissolution  of  manners?  With  what 
unreasonable  jealousy  has  rehgion  been  viewed  in  the 
establishment  of  all  our  political  constitutions!  How 
little  is  the  sacred  charter  of  our  immortal  hopes  studi- 

VOL.  I.  u  u 


^30  Religion  necessary  to 

ed  and  understood!  With  what  avidity  have  the  doc- 
trines of  a  licentious  philosophy,  which  emancipates 
the  heart  from  all  moral  control,  been  received  even  by 
the  multitude,  although  unable  to  comprehend  its  spe- 
culative principles!  Have  we  not  especially  to  lament 
the  prostitution  of  the  Sabbath,  which,  if  rightly  used, 
is  one  of  the  most  excellent  institutions  ever  established 
in  any  nation?  And  what  is  the  consequence  of  this 
irreligious  tendency  in  our  manners?  The  public 
mind  is  agitated  with  the  most  violent  and  uncorrect- 
ed passions. — Deadly  and  murderous  quarrels  are  mul- 
tiplying beyond  all  former  example.  Station  and  virtue 
are  indiscriminately  attacked  by  the  most  atrocious 
slanders.  Every  man  of  sentiment  and  feeling  will 
soon  be  driven  from  all  public  functions.  Worth  will 
seek  to  hide  itself  in  profound  retirement;  and  the  state, 
unless  Heaven,  in  mercy,  interpose  to  preserve  us,  will 
be  tossed  between  alternate  factions  of  unprincipled 
men,  who  will  stop  at  no  measures  for  their  own  ag- 
grandizement,— of  audacious  demagogues  who  are 
restrained  by  no  moral  sentiments, — of  vile  intriguers 
who  will  stoop  to  any  baseness  to  advance  their  merce- 
nary and  ambitious  aims.  Licentiousness  is  in  danger  of 
proceeding  to  atheism,  and  atheism  of  aggravating  licen- 
tiousness, till  a  miserable  people,  lacerated  by  their  own 
crimes,  and  tired  with  the  misfortunes  which  they  bring 
upon  themselves,  will  be  willing,  at  last,  to  seek  a  dread- 
ful refuge  in  the  despotism  of  a  master.  Do  you  say 
these  are  idle  and  visionary  predictions?  They  are 
predictions  founded  on  the  nature  of  man,  and  the  cer- 
tain and  invariable  course  of  human  things.     Remem- 


JVational  Prosperity.  851 

ber  the  same  predictions  already  verified  with  regard 
to  the  dreadful  fate  of  France.  And  yet,  perhaps, 
even  this  fate  is  less  dreadful  than  the  horrors  of  their 
abused  liberty,  the  consequence  and  the  curse  of  a  de- 
lirious impiety,  which  they  proudly  and  ignorantly  call- 
ed by  the  name  of  philosophy.  These  evils  are  the 
curse  which  God  has  worked  up  in  the  very  order  of 
the  universe  as  the  punishment  of  public  and  national 
vice.  But,  brethren,  let  us,  in  the  language  of  the  apos- 
tle, hope  better  things  of  you  though  we  thus  speak.  May 
that  God  who  has  so  often  extended  his  arm  in  our  fa-' 
vour  yet  arise  for  our  salvation!  Religion  still  has  a  pow- 
erful hold  of  the  public  mind — among  the  great  body  of 
the  people  its  institutions  are  still  respected — the  pub- 
lic manners  are  hitheito  comparatively  simple.  0  God! 
arrest,  in  thy  mercy,  the  spirit  of  impiety,  and  restore 
among  us  in  all  their  purity  and  energy,  the  primitive 
institutions  of  the  gospel! 

•  Behold,  my  brethren,  in  these  reflections,  new  mo- 
tives to  animate  your  pious  zeal.  I  speak  not  here  of 
those  motives  derived  from  peace  of  conscience,  from 
the  hope  of  the  divine  mercy,  from  your  eternal  inte- 
rests; but  liom  ihe  interests  of  your  country.  Your 
piety,  your  virtue  has  an  important  aspect  on  its  felicity. 
Even  in  a  corrupted  age  the  piety  of  a  few  individuals 
may  sometimes^  delay  the  execution  of  the  judgments 
of  God;  and  may  prove  a  cement  to  society  which  will 
long  serve  to  bind  together  its  disjointed  fragments,  and 
prevent  it  from  being  utterly  dissolved.  Five  righteous 
men  would  have  saved  the  devoted  city  of  Sodom. 
Every  good  man  contains  in  himself  a  large  portion  of 


33^  Religion  necessary  to 

the  public  safety.  How  consoling,  how  sublime  is  the 
reflection  that,  by  his  virtues  he  is  promoting  the  hap- 
piness of  millions,  and  that,  by  his  christian  graces,  how- 
ever imperfect  and  unworthy,  he  is  drawing  down  on 
millions  the  blessings  and  protection  of  Heaven. 

What  then  christians!  is  your  duty,  in  this  respect,  to 
God,  and  to  your  country,  as  good  citizens''  I  might 
recount  all  the  sacrifices  of  piety  which  you  owe  to  God 
— all  the  offices  of  justice  and  charity  due  to  mankind, 
but  to  confine  my  view  to  a  single  object — it  is  the  faith- 
ful discipline,  ihe  virtuous  and  pious  education  of  your 
families.  Families  are  the  elementary  parts  of  the  re- 
public. While  domestic  manners  are  preserved  pure, 
particularly  while  parental  government  and  instruction 
on  the  one  hand,  and  filial  duty  on  the  other,  are  main- 
tained in  their  vigor,  these  are  the  surest  pledges  of  the 
public  virtue,  and  the  public  felicity. 

This  idea  leads  to  the  true  meaning  of  that  com- 
mandment, which  has  been  as  little  understood  as  the* 
words  of  our  text; — Honor  thy  father  and  thy  mother , 
that  thy  days  may  be  long  upon  the  land  ivhich  the  Lord 
thy  God  giveth  thee.  Not  surely,  that  filial  duty  shall  be 
a  pledge  of  long  life  to  the  individual,  which  is  not 
warranted  by  the  course  of  human  events;  nor,  accord- 
ing to  the  answer  in  the  Catechism  of  the  Westminster 
assembly,  that  excellent  compilation,  in  general,  of 
christian  science,  "  that  it  shall  be  a  pledge  of  long  life, 
and  prosperity,  as  far  as  shall  serve  for  God's  glory, 
and  their  own  good,  to  all  such  as  keep  this  command- 
ment," which  is  saying  nothing  more  than  is  equally 
true  of  every  other  precept  of  the  decalogue.    But,  ad- 


J^ational  Prosperity.  S3  3 

dressed  to  the  nation  of  Irsael  as  a  universal  law,  it  evi- 
dently implies,  that,  if  in  its  proper  spirit,  it  were  incor- 
porated into  their  national  manners,  and  domestic  ha- 
bits, they  should  long  prosper  in  that  happy  land  into 
which  Jehovah  their  God  had  brought  them,  A  wise 
and  virtuous  education  is  the  only  true  ground  of  filial 
duty,  and  fihal  duty  is  the  genuine  principle  of  all  the  do- 
mestic virtues.  By  such  a  discipline,  religion,  and 
good  morals  will  continue  to  be  handed  down  from  race 
to  race:  and  the  state,  strong  in  the  virtue  of  its  citi- 
zens and  purity  and  innocence  of  the  public  manners, 
will  continue  to  flourish  for  ages.  The  days  of  such  a 
nation,  or  their  continuance  on  the  land  of  their  fathers 
shall  be  prolonged,  under  the  blessings  and  protection 
of  Almighty  God, — to  thousands  of  generations,  saith  the 
divine  legislator,  of  those  who  love  God,  and  keep  his 
commandments.  Be  ours  then,  christians  and  fellow 
citizens,  the  praise  of  the  patriarch  Abraham,  whose 
resolution  and  glory  it  was,  that  he  would  bring  up  his 
children,  and  household  after  him  to  fear  the  Lord.  Be 
ours  the  pious  purpose  of  the  heroic  and  patriotic 
Joshua,  "  as  for  me,  and  my  house,  we  will  serve  the 
Lord." 

Christians!  on  your  fidehty  and  care  depend  the  most 
precious  interests  of  your  beloved  children.  In  every 
child  an  immortal  soul  is  entrusted  to  your  charge. 
And  may  I  not  add,  though  an  inferior,  yet  a  most  im- 
portant consideration,  a  sacred  pledge  is  committed  to 
you  for  the  commonwealth.  You  have  a  deep  stake  in 
the  happiness  of  your  country.  And  remember  that 
its  prosperity  is  most  securely  bottomed  upon  religion 


334  Religion  necessary  to 

and  virtue.     Train  up  virtuous  citizens  then,  for  the  re- 
pubHc,  immortal  heirs  for  the  kingdom  of  heaven. 

From  reflections  such  as  these,  ought  not  every  citi- 
zen, animated  by  the  spirit  of  true  piety,  to  regard  it  as 
among  the  first,  and  most  important  of  his  social  duties, 
by  his  example,  by  his  instruction,  by  all  his  active 
energies,  to  extend  the  practical  influence  of  vital  reli- 
gion, and  to  multiply  the  means  of  religious  knowledge 
through  every  grade  of  the  people.  On  such  a  nation 
God  will  shower  his  distinguished  blessings,  and  spread 
over  them  the  shield  of  his  holy  protection. 

Christians!  we  see  men  sufficiently  concerned  about 
their  political  constitutions,  and  the  administration  of 
their  government.  Indeed,  they  suffer  themselves  to  be 
inflamed  with  an  excessive  and  culpable  zeal  on  these 
subjects,  as  if  the  public  felicity  depended  exclusively 
on  the  laws,  and  on  the  men  appointed  to  administer 
them.  But  be  assured,  and  it  is  a  truth  vouched  by 
the  experience  of  ages  as  well  as  by  the  word  of  God, 
that  the  prosperity  of  republics  depends  infinitely  more 
on  their  religion,  than  on  their  legislation.  When  the 
public  morals  are  pure,  even  bad  laws  hardly  produce 
any  sensible  ill  effect;  but  when  the  general  manners 
are  corrupted,  the  best  laws  often  operate  the  most  in- 
jurious consequences.  Regard  not  the  vices,  then, 
which  prevail  in  society,  as  evils  which  affect  merely 
the  guilty  individuals  who  practise  them ;  but  deplore 
them  as  containing  the  stores  of  accumulated  calami- 
ties which  threaten  one  day,  to  fall  upon  your  country. 
Silently  they  diffuse  a  contagion  which  is  infecting 
the  whole  mass  of  society;  they  are  gathering  in  secret, 


JVational  Prospenty.  335 

a  fearful  cloud  over  our  heads,  which,  in  God's  appoint- 
ed time,  that  is,  when  it  grows  dark  and  heavy  with  our 
iniquities,  shall  burst  upon  us  and  upon  our  children. 
Deeply  should  it  be  borne  in  your  minds,  christians,  that 
every  good  man  is,  in  proportion  to  his  rank  and  influ- 
ence, a  pillar  and  a  bulwark  to  his  country ;  but  that  every 
vicious  and  profligate  citizen  is,  contributing  to  under- 
mine the  foundation  of  its  happiness  and  safety. 

It  is  unusual  to  urge  the  duties  of  religion,  or  to  de- 
claim against  the  prevalent  vices  of  the  age,  from  con- 
siderations drawn  from  our  public  and  national  inte- 
rests? Listen  to  the  addresses  of  the  prophets  to  the  peo- 
ple of  Israel;  are  they  not  replete  with  exhortations  and 
remonstrances  derived  from  the  same  source?  Let 
me,  however,  conclude  this  discourse  by  making  an  ap- 
peal to  your  hearts  from  a  different  quarter.  If  your 
piety  and  virtue  be  useful  to  your  country,  how  much 
richer  a  blessing  is  it  preparing,  through  the  mediation 
of  your  Redeemer,  for  your  own  souls,  in  the  everlasting 
habitations  of  the  righteous?  If  your  iniquities  contri- 
bute to  bring  down  the  judgments  of  Heaven  on  a  guil- 
ty land,  remember  a  more  awful  truth,  that  every  im- 
penitent sinner  is  treasuring  up  for  himself  "  wrath 
against  the  day  of  wrath,  and  the  revelation  of  the 
righteous  judgment  of  God.'^  If,  in  the  national  de- 
reliction of  morals  and  religion,  God  visits  the  iniqui- 
ties of  the  fathers  upon  the  children; — if  we  see  pesti- 
lence and  war,  wasting  and  desolation  afllict  the  guilty 
nations,  does  not  a  doom  infinitely  more  dreadful  await 
the  sinner  in  that  world,  where  justice,  freed  from  the 
restraints  which  arrest  its  course  in  a  probationary 


^36  Religion  necessary,  ^c. 

state,  shall  pour  its  vials  with  unmitigated  vengeance  on 
the  reprobate  children  of  folly  and  vice. 

Christian  brethren,  this  is  not  the  picture  of  a  gloomy 
fancy  which  delights  in  fearful  images,  nor  the  decla- 
mation of  a  tragic  eloquence  which  loves  to  try  its  skill 
upon  the  passions  of  men;  it  is  the  word  of  God,  which 
in  its  greatest  simpHcity,  carries  with  it  the  greatest 
majesty  and  terror;  "he  that  believeth  not  shall  not  see 
life,  but  the  wrath  oi'  God  abideth  on  him/' 


THE  ORIGINAL  TRIAL, 

AND  THE 

FALL  OF  MAN; 

OR, 

THE  FIRST  SIN,  AND  ITS  CONSEaUENCES. 

In  the  day  thou  eatest  thereof  thou  shalt  surely  die.     Gen.  ii,  17. 

The  introduction  of  moral  and  physical  evil  into  the 
world,  has  been  a  subject  of  anxious  and  fruitless  spe- 
culation among  men,  ever  since  the  origin  of  philoso- 
phy.— That  a  Creator,  who  was  himself  good,  should 
form  an  impure  and  vicious  being,  seemed  impossible 
— that  a  Creator  who  was  omnipotent,  as  well  as  good, 
should  suffer  the  introduction  of  evil  into  his  works 
seemed  improbable.  Reason,  involved  in  darkness, 
and  fatigued  with  inquiries  that  only  ended  in  disap- 
pointment, had  recourse  to  the  wildest  conjectures. 
For,  so  painful  to  the  mind  is  a  state  of  uncertainty 
and  doubt,  that  often,  it  would  rather  rest  on  any  fan- 
cy, however  extravagant,  than  continue  unfixed,  and 
vibrating  in  perpetual  suspence.  Some  of  the  eastern 
nations  maintained  an  eternal  principle  of  evil  as  well 
as  of  good,  the  confines  of  whose  respective  dominions 
met,  and  were  blended  together  in  this  v<^orld,  and  in 
the  nature  of  man. — Many  of  the  Greeks  believed  in 
the  eternity,  and  the  essential  perverseness  of  matter 

VOL.  I.  XX 


338  Fall  of  Man. 

which  could  not  be  corrected  even  by  the  omnipotent 
hand  of  the  Divine  power  of  the  universe,  and  which 
gives  the  body  such  a  vicious  ascendency  over  the  pu- 
rer faculties  of  the  mind — And  not  a  few  of  the  mo- 
derns, unable  to  reconcile  the  miseries  of  the  world 
with  the  goodness  of  a  Deity,  or  the  vices  of  men  with 
infinite  moral  perfection  in  the  Creator,  have  boldly 
denied  his  existence,  and  sunk  their  doubts  in  the 
gulf  of  atheism. — Reason,  indeed,  if  we  rely  on  it  alone 
on  this  subject,  soon  plunges  us  into  endless  hypothe- 
ses and  doubts,  and  can  propose  no  satisfying  solution 
of  the  difficulties  which  arise  out  of  its  own  conjec- 
tures. God  alone  is  able  to  unfold  to  man  his  own 
works;  and  we  must  trace  the  source  of  our  corrup- 
tion, of  the  afflictions  with  which  the  world  is  filled, 
and  of  our  universal  mortality,  in  the  history  of  the 
fall  which  he  ha?h  dictated  to  Moses. — But,  does  this 
history  remove  every  difficulty,  or  answer  every  inqui- 
ry which  human  curiosity  has  raised  with  regard  to 
the  existence  of  evil.*"  No,  the  mind  of  man  is  not 
yet  sufficiently  expanded  to  take  in  the  principles  of 
the  Divine  government,  which  have  a  relation  proba- 
bly to  the  whole  universe;  and,  certainly,  to  a  much 
higher  condition  of  being  than  the  present.  We  re- 
semble children  attempting  to  judge  of  the  economy 
and  discipline  of  families,  and  the  policy  of  nations. 
A  few  facts,  or  a  few  didactic  precepts,  is  all  that  we 
can  receive  on  this  subHme  and  comphcated  subject, 
so  far  in  advance  of  its  present  improvements.^ — Some 
inexplicable  questions  must  still  remain:  but  the  his- 
tory of  Moses  recommends  itself  by  its  simplicity  and  its 


Fall  of  Man.  339 

probability  before  all  the  fabulous  traditions  of  the  Pa- 
gan nations,  which  seem,  however,  to  rest  upon  the 
same  basis  with  his;  and  far  before  those  idle  conjec- 
tures which  have  ever  amused,  peiplexed,  and  divided 
the  schools  of  philosophers.     Does  an  enemy  of  reli- 
gion ask,  why  God  should  have  left  any  difficulties  in 
a  revelation  which  is  designed  to  teach  us  his  will? 
For  this  plain  reason  that  it  is  impossible  to  be  other- 
wise.    We  are  extremely  limited  in  our  powers  of 
knowledge.     Ignorance  will  forever  be  the  source  of 
difficulties.    And  if  a  thousand  questions  had  been  sol- 
ved which  we  now  raise  on  the  subject  of  religion,  they 
would  only  have  given  rise  to  ten  thousand  more  equal- 
ly embarrassing.     Nor  could  this  process  ever  stop, 
nor  inquiiies  and  difficulties  come  to  an  end  till  we 
should  arrive  at  omniscience.  God  has,  therefore,  re- 
vealed only  so  much  as  is  necessary  to  our  present  du- 
ty— the  rest  he  has  reserved  to  gratify  our  thirst  of 
knowledge,  and  to  feed  our  intellectual  pleasures  in  the 
career  of  an  immortal  existence. 

Having  made  these  preliminary  observations  in  or- 
der to  prepare  our  minds  for  the  following  illustrations, 
and,  at  the  same  time,  to  prevent  too  much  from  being 
expected  in  the  discussion  of  the  present  subject,  I 
proceed  to  say  that,  according  to  the  sacred  history, 
God  originally  formed  man  a  pure,  a  holy,  and  immor- 
tal being,  a  work  worthy  of  the  power,  the  benevo- 
lence, and  the  holiness,  of  the  Creator — he  placed  him 
in  a  garden  filled  with  the  purest  delights  of  nature, 
but  not  wholly  without  the  necessity  of  being  cultivated 
by  human  industry — along  with  the  privileges  which  he 


340  Fall  of  Man. 

conferred  on  man,  he  mingled  temptation  to  try  his  fi- 
delity, and,  in  trying  it,  to  confirm  his  virtue — he  estab- 
lished a  physical  law  that  children  proceeding  by  or- 
dinary descent  from  their  parents,  should  derive  from 
them  their  whole  nature,  its  perfections  or  defects;  so 
that  the  first  man  became,  by  this  law,  the  federal  as 
well  as  natural  head  of  his  whole  posterity.  They  would 
have  partaken  of  his  virtue  and  his  immortality,  if  he 
had  persevered  in  his  obedience — they  have  been  sub- 
jected to  sin,  and  to  death  by  his  fall.  The  test  of  his 
obedience  was  his  abstaining  from  eating  the  fruit  of 
the  tree  of  knowledge  of  good  and  evil,  a  name  proba- 
bly derived  from  its  fatal  consequences — the  denun- 
ciation was,  in  the  day  thou  eatest  tliereof  thou  shall 
surely  die. 

On  this  subject  I  shall  consider, 

1.  In  the  first  place,  the  test  which  God  established 
of  the  fidelity  of  our  first  parents,  &c. 

2.  Secondly,  the  consequences  of  their  disobedience 
to  themselves,  and  their  posterity. 

1.  The  test  of  their  fidelity,  the  temptation  which 
was  to  try  their  persevering  obedience  to  the  Divine 
command,  was  the  frmt  oi^  the  tree  of  knowledge. 

Of  every  tree  in  the  garden  they  were  permitted  to  eat 
both  for  pleasure  and  subsistence,  except  of  this  alone. 
One  immortal  tree  was  planted  in  the  midst  of  Eden, 
either  appointed  by  God  as  a  visible  symbol  of  life — 
or,  perhaps,  containing  some  ineffable  virtue  to  repair 
forever  the  decays  that  must  necessarily  happen  in 
such  a  material  system  as  the  body.  Opposite  to  it 
was  placed  this  fatal  tree,  the  fruit  of  which  seems  to 


Fall  of  Man.  S4l 

have  contained  a  subtle,  but  delicious  and  intoxicating 
poison  that  created  such  irregular  movements  in  all 
the  senses,  the  appetites,  and  the  passions,  as  tarnish- 
ed the  purity,  and  destroyed  the  virtuous  and  holy 
power  of  the  soul  over  its  own  actions;  and  that  be- 
came the  natural  mean  by  which  the  offended  Crea- 
tor inflicted  on  the  body  the  curse  of  mortality  which 
he  had  denounced  on  their  disobedience. 

Piety  has  sometimes  humbly  inquired  why  was  the 
trial  of  man^s  fidelity  rested  upon,  apparently,  so  tri- 
vial a  command?  Ignorance  and  infidelity  have  de- 
manded with  a  sneer,  if  virtue  and  vice,  if  the  safety 
and  ruin  of  mankind,  could  depend  upon  the  eating  of 
a  little  fruit?  Christians!  attend  to  the  circumstances 
of  the  period  and  of  our  great  father,  and  you  will  see 
that,  far  from  being  a  trivial,  it  was  a  most  important 
prohibition — and  if  not  this,  at  least  something  of  the 
same  kind,  was,  perhaps,  the  only  trial  that,  in  the 
state  of  primitive  man,  could  be  made  of  his  obe- 
dience.— So  that  if  sin  could  destroy  our  nature,  its 
ruin  might  depend,  in  the  language  of  the  objectors, 
on  the  eating  of  a  little  fruit.  Remember  then,  that 
animal  food  was  not  yet  necessary  for  man — even  the 
culture  of  grain  had  not  yet  taken  place — that  his 
whole  sustenance  consisted  of  the  fruits  which  Eden 
as  yet  spontaneously  produced.  And  if  the  impor- 
tance of  an  object  is  to  be  measured  by  the  interest 
which  men  have  in  it,  what  in  life  is  of  so  much  im- 
portance as  the  provisions  by  which  it  is  sustained? 
To  what  else  are  almost  all  the  labours  and  cares  of 
men  devoted?    And,  what  faults  are  greater  in  them- 


U2  Fall  of  Man. 

selves,  or  lead  to  greater  crimes,  than  the  abuse  of 
those  provisions,  in  intemperance,  that  is,  in  depraving 
the  appetite,  in  inflaming  the  passions,  in  corrupting 
and  sensualizing  our  vt^hole  nature.  What  does  God 
punish,  in  the  course  of  Providence,  with  more  dis- 
tinguished severity?  Fruit  was,  to  the  original  pair, 
every  thing  that  the  taste,  the  appetite,  the  body  de- 
manded— It  might  be  all  that  the  most  tempting  viands 
of  luxury  can  now  offer  to  the  epicure.  And  the  fruit 
of  that  forbidden  tree  was  probably  of  such  a  nature  as 
to  render  the  use  of  it  a  high  intemperance,  and  the 
only  intemperance,  of  which  they  could  then  be  guilty. 
I  said,  likewise,  that  it  was,  perhaps,  the  only  kind  of 
trial  which  could  then  be  made  of  man's  obedience,  if 
any  peculiar  test  were  proposed  at  all. — Go  through 
the  decalogue,  and  what  command  is  there  which 
Adam  could  have  violated.^  Could  he  have  denied 
God  with  whom  he  conversed  every  day,  and  whose 
works  were  shining  in  all  the  freshness  of  their  glory 
before  his  eyes  in  the  recent  creation  ?  Could  he  have 
dishonoured  his  parents,  who  had  no  parent  but  God.^ — 
Could  he  have  murdered,  or  injured,  the  only  compa- 
nion of  his  existence.'^  Could  he,  who  possessed  the 
only  wife  in  the  world,  be  guilty  of  unchastely  violating 
the  right  of  another.-^  Could  he  steal,  or  defraud,  or 
envy,  or  covet,  when  all  things  were  his,  and  he  was 
already  lord  of  the  universe?  It  would  seem  as  if  his 
trial  could  relate  only  to  some  act  of  personal  purity 
and  temperance — such  as  appears  to  have  been  the 
object  of  this  precept.  Many  very  pious  writers  in- 
deed have  supposed  that  the  trial  of  man's  obedience 


Fall  of  Man.  343 

consisted  in  absolute  submission  to  the  sovereignty  of 
God,  without  any  other  reason  or  ground  for  the  com- 
mand. If  it  were  so,  I  do  not  know  that  we  could 
dispute  the  right  of  the  Supreme  Creator  to  impose 
such  a  test.  In  either  view,  it  is  evidently  a  com- 
mand of  much  higher  importance  than  the  cavillers  at 
Christianity  have  affected  to  represent  it — and  much 
higher  than  christians  themselves,  who  have  not  mature- 
ly considered  the  circumstances  of  the  case,  have  often 
conceived. 

This  command  our  first  parents  disobeyed.  It  has 
frequently  been  asked  how  minds  so  innocent  and  pure 
as  theirs  could  fall  into  sin,  or  entertain,  for  a  moment, 
the  first  temptation  to  offend  their  Creator.^ — We  are 
too  imperfectly  acquainted  with  the  complicated  and 
rapid  movements  of  mind,  to  explain  precisely  how 
this  was  effected.  But,  wherever  moral  liberty  exists 
in  a  being  not  infinitely  perfect,  there  exists  the  possi- 
bility of  change.  The  great  enemy  of  God  and  of  hu- 
man happiness,  who  had  previously  fallen  from  his 
glory  and  fidelity  in  Heaven,  abusing  the  form,  or  the 
body,  of  the  serpent,  led  our  primitive  mother  into  the 
transgression.  He  seems,  from  the  very  name  of  the 
tree,  to  have  awakened  her  curiosity  and  thirst  for 
additional  knowledge,  which  at  first  view  appeared  not 
t©  be  a  criminal  motive,  that  could  startle  her  by  its 
guilt:  but  was  calculated  rather  to  lull  and  throw  off  its 
guard  her  pious  vigilance.  He  called  in  question  the 
ground  and,  therefore,  the  reality  of  the  Divine  prohi- 
bition, and,  probably  by  his  own  example  in  eating  the 
forbidden  fruit,  brought  into  doubt  at  least,  the  cer- 


344  Fall  of  Man. 

tainty  of  the  Divine  threatening.  In  an  unhappy  mo- 
ment she  was  surprized — she  fell  without  yet  being 
conscious  of  her  state.  Intoxicated  by  her  imagina- 
ry success,  and,  perhaps,  by  the  spirit  of  the  fruit,  she 
brought  a  portion  of  it  to  Adam;  and  adding  the  force 
of  her  persuasions  and  her  charms,  he  yielded  to  the 
multiplied  temptation,  and  fell  with  her — And  alas! 

2.  What  a  train  of  evils,  both  to  them  and  to  us, 
have  followed  the  fatal  action! 

When  the  delirium  of  that  mortal  fruit  was  past,  they 
became  conscious  for  the  first  time  of  their  true  situa- 
tion, and  that  they  had  lost  the  favour  of  God.  They 
feared  him  whom  they  had  so  often  met  with  confidence 
and  joy,  pouring  at  his  feet  the  grateful  and  delightful 
homage  of  their  hearts.  They  fled,  and  vainly  thought 
to  hide  themselves  from  his  sight. — They  felt  that 
shame  in  the  presence  of  one  another,  which  is  the 
disgraceful  effect  of  vice,  and  they  attempted  to  cover 
themselves  with  fig  leaves.  This  is  a  remarkable  fact 
which  deserves  your  attention.  The  nakedness,  which, 
in  the  age  of  innocence,  never  affected  them  with  any 
emotion  but  such  as  was  pure,  now  began  to  cover 
them  with  blushes. — Was  it  that  the  glow  of  a  celes- 
tial beauty  which  surrounded  the  primitive  body  of 
man  was  lost,  and  the  deformity  of  a  fallen  nature  be- 
gan to  appear?  Or,  was  it  that,  formerly,  the  senti- 
ments of  devotion,  of  friendship,  of  a  virtuous  tender- 
ness, of  a  sublime  sympathy,  of  a  high,  intelligent,  and 
noble  conversation  "which  reigned  between  them,  ab- 
sorbed their  minds,  and  made  every  sensible  pleasure 
only  a  gentle  heightening  to  more  pure  and  refined 


Fall  of  Man,  345 

sensations — but  now  the  tumults  only  of  a  gross  pas- 
sion filled  their  hearts,  always  shameful,  and,  in  their 
situation,  incapable  of  being  subjected  to  the  control  of 
decency?  Perhaps,  both  these  causes  contiibuted  to 
this  striking  and  singular  incident  in  the  history  of  the 
fall.  Their  nature,  which  had  made  a  near  approach 
to  the  angelic,  was  now  sunk  and  becoming  brutal. 

But  this  was  a  small  part,  it  was  but  the  commence- 
i)i<?nt  of  that  dreadful  sentence  which  had  been  de- 
nounced on  their  transgression — in  tJie  day  thou  eatest 
thereof,  thou  shalt  surely  die. 

Theological  writers  have,  not  unjustly,  distinguish- 
ed in  this  sentence  a  threefold  death — that  of  the  soul 
to  virtue,  and  the  high  and  celestial  life  of  holiness 
which  it  lived  in  Paradise — that  of  the  body  in  its  dis- 
solution, and  that  of  both  soul  and  body  in  their  eter- 
nal rejection  from  God.  The  Supreme  Judge  called 
the  trembling  criminals  before  him,  not  to  receive  their 
apology  or  hear  their  defence,  but  to  convict  them  of 
their  guilt — and,  having  pronounced  his  fearful  decree, 
he  ordered  his  angel  to  expel  them  from  the  garden, 
the  abode  of  innocence,  the  theatre  of  so  many  sub- 
lime beauties,  the  scene  of  so  many  happy  and  exqui- 
site hours;  and,  the  more  effectually  to  cut  off  all  hope 
of  return,  he  commanded  him  to  plant  at  the  entrance 
a  flaming  sword,  the  awful  symbol  of  their  separation, 
and  of  his  inexorable  justice. — Stripped  of  their  pri- 
mitive glory,  retai)Hng  little  of  their  former  nature,  but 
the  memory  of  joys  that  were  now  forever  lost,  they 
descended,  oppressed  with  their  grief  and  their  guilt, 
into  a  world  rendered  barren  and  unkind,  to  draw  their 

VOL,  1.  Y  y 


346  Fall  of  Man. 

subsistence  bv  the  siveat  of  their  brow,  from  the  re- 
luctant soil.     The  serpent,    the    instrument  of  their 
temptation,  was  ordered  to  follow  them,  to  crawl  upon 
his  belly,  and  to  lick  the  dust,  not  so  much  as  a  pu- 
nishment inflicted  on  the  senseless  animal,  as  to  keep 
them  humble  and  penitent,   by  a  perpetual  image  be- 
fore their  eyes  of  their  degraded  state,  and  to  be  a  con- 
stant monitor  of  the  fearful  evil  of  sin  which  involves 
in  ruin  its  instruments,  and  every  thing  connected  with 
it.     Through  life  they  were  subjected  to  labour  and 
toil — to  the  tumults,  the  conflicts,  the  shame,  the  re- 
morse of  sinful  passions — to  disease  and  pain — to  be- 
reavement and  disappointment — and,  finally ,  they  yield- 
ed all  the  remnants  of  worldly  enjoyment  and  hope  to 
the  dreadful  dominion   of  death.     But  this  was   the 
lightest  portion  of  those  calamities  ^vhich  have  suc- 
ceeded tlie  fall.     His  whole  posterity  were  involved  in 
the  same  ruin.     This  would  drive  the  sting  of  guilt 
tenfold  deeper  into  his  own  heart.     He  looked  down 
through  the  long  series  of  ages  and  behold  nothing  but 
a  fearful  succession  of  crimes  and  miseries — the  world, 
destroyed  by  his  fault,  turned  into  a  field  of  blood,  a 
place  of  skulls      One  son  he  saw  destroyed  by  the 
hand  of  his  brother, — the  beginning  of  so  many  fra- 
ternal murders  which  were  afterwards  to  stain   the 
earth — and  he  lived  to  be  a  melancholy  witness  of  the 
commencement  of  those  crimes  which  prepared  the 
deluge  that  overwhelmed  the  guilty  race  in  the  age  of 
Noah.     We  this  day,  and  mankind  in  ev(Ty  period 
have  felt  the  fatal  effects  of  the  original  transgression. 
TV  6  derive    thence    a  corrupted   nature — we   derive 


Fall  of  Man.  347 

thence  an  existence  that  groans  under  innumerable 
afflictions — theme  have  flowed  the  crimes  and  the  mi- 
series which  have  filled  the  world — and  thence  the 
universal  empire  of  death.  Oh!  how  fearful  was  that 
transgression!  how  dreadful,  how  desolating,  how  ex- 
tensive was  that  sentence! — Adam  stood  at  the  head 
of  his  race  —they  were  to  partake  of  his  nature,  and  to 
be  involved  in  his  destiny.  This  was  fixed  by  God  as 
the  certain  and  immutable  law  of  our  being. — We  see 
the  existence  of  this  law  demonstrated  in  the  whole 
state  of  the  world — we  reap  its  lamentable  consequen- 
ces in  our  own  experience. 

This  doctrine  has  been  boldly  arraigned  by  the  ene- 
mies of  religion.  Is  it  consistent  with  the  goodness  and 
the  justice  of  God,  they  ask,  that  one  should  stand  in 
so  important  a  relation  as  the  representative  of  all? 
That  the  fate  of  so  many  beings,  not  yet  in  existence, 
should  depend  upon  the  doubtful  conduct  of  an  indivi- 
dual who  may  happen  to  be  their  progenitor?  My 
brethren,  those  of  you  especially  whose  minds  have 
ever  been  shaken  by  the  scruples  of  infidelity,  listen  to 
me  for  a  moment  with  patience  and  attention.  It  is  an 
interesting  subject.  It  shows  us  our  origin — It  is 
the  hinge  of  religion.  The  human  mind,  then,  is 
too  weak  to  penetrate  into  the  reasons  of  the  divine 
government,  or  the  causes  of  things  either  in  the 
physical  or  moral  world.  It  is  only  by  effects  arid 
events  that  we  can  arrive  at  any  knowledge  con- 
cerning them,  or  judge  of  them  at  all.  But,  wherever 
we  see  a  fact  clearly  exist  in  nature,  we  justly  ascribe 
it  to  some  law  established  by  the  Creator;  and  whether 


S48  Fall  of  Man. 

we  can  penetrate  its  principles,  and  discern  the  reasons 
on  whic|i  it  is  established  or  not,  one  truth  is  clear,  ac- 
cording to  the  just  and  beautiful  idea  of  the  poet,  in  spite 
of  erring  reason,  whatever  is,  by  his  appointment,  is  right. 
And  when  one  fact,  or  a  chain  of  correspondent  facts 
are  decisively  ascertained,  we  may  safely  reason  from 
them  by  analogy. 

In  the  first  place,  then,  do  we  not  see  that  vice,  that 
misery,  that  death,  exist  universally  in  the  world?  On 
the  subject  of  universal  vice  which  is  the  most  doubted. 
I  appeal  to  the  whole  history  of  man — I  appeal  to  every 
man^s  consciousness.  Whether,  then,  is  it  more  con- 
formable to  reason,  and  to  our  ideas  of  divine  goodness 
and  justice,  to  suppose  that  these  evils  are  the  direct 
and  immediate  work  of  God;  or,  are  derived  to  man- 
kind through  a  progenitor  who  abused  his  mercies,  and 
forfeited  his  immortality  along  with  his  virtue.'^  Is  it 
more  difficult,  or,  on  the  other  hand,  is  it  not  much  less 
difficult  to  account  for  them  on  the  scripture  doctrine 
of  representation,  than  on  the  principle  of  direct  crea- 
tion? If  God  can  be  justified  in  giving  them  existence 
without  the  supposition  of  the  original  innocence  and 
the  fall  of  man;  can  their  introduction  by  the  fall 
render  them  unjust?  But  to  produce  almost  demon- 
strative evidence  for  this  doctrine  laid  down  in  the  his- 
tory of  Moses,  and  confirmed  by  the  whole  authority  of 
the  sacred  writings,  is  it  not  conformable  to  the  laws 
of  nature  in  all  similar  and  analogous  cases,  that  is,  to 
the  system  of  God  in  the  government  of  the  world? 
Do  not  children  inherit  the  nature  of  their  parents?  If 
the  first  parents  of  the  race,  then,  possessed  only  a  fallen 
imperfect, corrupted,  and  mortal  nature,  could  they  have 


Fail  of  Man.  S49 

communicated  to  their  offspring  one  that  was  pure  and 
immortal — one  that  resembled  their  original  and  para- 
disiacal constitution?  Must  not  those  then  who  sprung 
from  them,  have  partaken  of  their  degeneracy?  that  is, 
have  suffered  the  same  evils  which  they  had  brought 
upon  themselves  by  their  unhappy  catastrophe?  Again, 
do  not  children  inherit  the  poverty,  the  humiliations, 
the  ignominy  of  parents?  Do  we  not  even  see  them 
inherit  their  diseases?  Is  that  in  consequence  of  their 
own  faults?  or  is  it  not  in  consequence  of  that  universal 
law  of  nature,  of  which  our  doctrine  affords  only  the 
principal  example?  Does  not  mind,  in  this  case,  fol- 
low the  law  of  body?  Take  other  examples — In  a  vi- 
cious, profligate  and  effeminate  age,  are  not  the  children 
who  are  born,  placed,  by  the  order  of  Providence,  with- 
out any  antecedent  crime  of  their  own,  in  a  situation  in 
which  it  is  almost  impossible  for  them  to  acquire  the 
manly  and  noble  virtues?  See  the  Copts,  the  descen- 
dents  of  the  ancient  Egyptians,  the  modern  Greeks,  the 
dispersed  and  wandering  Jews,  the  wretched  remains 
of  so  many  other  nations — degenerate,  vicious,  misera- 
ble, contemptible,  are  they  not  suffering  under  the  very 
law  which  is  called  in  question  by  this  objection  of  infi- 
dehty?  Children  among  them  spring  from  their  fathers 
under  every  circumstance  of  wretchedness  and  base- 
ness. And,  if  an  individual,  if  a  nation,  why  not  a 
world?  Do  you  ask  me  how  I  vindicate  these  appoint- 
ments, these  laws  of  the  Creator?  That  is  not  my  pre- 
sent duty.  It  is  sufficient  for  me  that  they  exist,  to 
vindicate  the  sacred  scriptures.  What  then  is  the  im- 
port of  this  threatening  to  us?  It  is  to  the  children 


650  Fall  of  Mm. 

and  parent  the  same — death  spiritual,  temporal,  and 
eternal.  We  derive  from  him  a  nature  not  merely  im- 
perfect, but  corrupted — we  are  doomed,  after  many 
sufferings,  to  return  to*  the  dust — we  are  liable  to  ever- 
lasting perdition,  being  by  nature,  saith  the  apostle,  chil- 
dren of  wrath.  From  these  fearful  evils  we  can  be 
delivered  only  by  the  virtue,  and  the  glorious  power  of 
the  Second  Adam,  the  promise  of  whose  coming  was 
interposed  by  the  compassion  of  God,  to  relieve  the 
terror,  the  distraction,  the  despair  of  our  wretched  first 
parents,  when  they  perceived  their  abandoned  state, 
and  saw  the  extent  of  the  misery  which  they  had  crea- 
ted. 

Let  us,  then,  contemplate,  for  a  moment,  the  deplo- 
rable state  into  which  we  are  fallen,  that,  feehng  our 
miseries  and  our  guilt,  as  we  ought  to  feel  them,  we 
may  be  persuaded  more  earnestly  to  flee  to  the  refuge, 
and  embrace  the  hope  of  the  gospel.  "  By  one  man 
sin  entered  into  the  world,  and  death  by  sin;  and  death 
hath  passed  upon  all  men,  because  all  have  sinned.  Be- 
hold," saith  the  Psalmist,  "I  was  shapen  in  iniquity, 
and  in  sin  did  my  mother  conceive  me.  Marvel  not," 
saith  the  Saviour  himself,  "that  I  said  untoyou,you  must 
be  born  again — that  which  is  born  of  the  flesh  is  flesh." 
Would  you  know  the  full  import  of  this  last  expression  ? 
Saint  Paul  interprets  it,  when  he  says,  "  the  carnaV 
that  is,  the  fleshly,  "mind  is  enmity  against  God — it  is 
not  subject  to  the  law  of  God,  neither  indeed  can  be." 
We  are  born  then  inclined  to  evil  when  we  begin  to  act 
—subjected  to  the  impure  dominion  of  sensual  appetites, 
and  disordered  passions — unholy  in  the  sight  of  God— 


Fall  of  Man.  35 1 

and  in  ourselves,  and  separated  from  our  relation  to 
Jesus  Christ  the  promised  Saviour  of  men,  subjected 
to  the  fearful  curse  of  his  righteous  law.  1  do  not  en- 
ter into  the  inquiry  whether  sin  is  seated  in  the  soul, 
in  the  body,  or  in  both?  the  decision  of  it  is  little  ma- 
terial to  the  vindication  of  the  justice  or  the  goodness 
of  God,  for  which  it  was  instituted — I  do  not  say  that 
we  are  born  in  the  actual  exercise  of  malignant  vice; 
but  that  we  are  so  constituted  as  to  tend  to  sin  as  soon 
as  we  grow  to  be  capable  of  moral  action — I  do  not  say 
that  we  are  absolutely  and  totally  corrupted  without 
any  remaining  tendency  to  good,  for  then  we  should  be 
devils,  but  that  we  are  so  depraved  in  all  oui*  moral 
powers  that  evil  predominates  over  the  good — we  fail 
in  every  point  of  the  law  of  God,  and  therelore  are  sub- 
jected to  its  holy,  but  its  fearful  curse; "  for  it  is  written, 
cursed  is  every  one  who  continueth  not  in  all  things 
written  in  the  book  of  the  law  to  do  them."  These  are 
gloomy  and  humiliating  ideas,  indeed,  and  therefore, 
not  only  have  unbelievers  denied  the  original  depravity 
of  man;  but  many  christian  writers,  and  many  hearers 
ot  the  gospel,  endeavour  to  soften  this  mortif}  ing  pic- 
ture of  human  nature.  They  cpnceive  of  its  corrup- 
tion merely  as  its  frailty — and  of  its  sins  as  foibles  ea- 
sily pardonable  in  a  being  so  trail.  But,  my  brethren, 
the  whole  scriptiires  represent  man  as  naturally  im- 
pure and  unholy,  and  needing  to  be  sanctified  and  pu- 
riried  by  the  blood  and  the  Spirit  of  the  Redeemer — as 
guilty  and  capable  of  salvation  only  through  the  great 
victim  slain  from  the  foundation  of  the  world  -  as  liable 
to  death,  from  which  he  could  be  delivered  only  by  him 


252  Fall  of  Man. 

who  acquired  the  right  to  conquer  Death  by  first  sub* 
mitting-  to  its  power  in  our  room.     And  is  not  this  the 
language  of  sacrifices,  of  ceremonies,  of  the  means  of 
grace,  of  that  precious  seal  of  the  covenant,  the  em- 
blem of  cleansing  and  purification,  impressed  upon  the 
offspring  of  believers  under  the  dispensations  both  of 
Moses  and  of  Jesus?     Was  it  not  to  the  lost  that  a  Sa- 
viour was  necessary?  to  the  blind  that  light  was  sent? 
Is  not  this  the  foundation  of  the  duties  of  repentance, 
and  of  faith,  and  of  the  indispensible  doctrine  of  spirit- 
ual regeneration  ^  Is  it  not  the  voice  of  the  whole  history 
of  man — of  the  pangs  of  the  mother — of  the  cries  of  the 
infant — of  the  discipline  of  childhood — of  the  passions 
of  youth — of  the  restraints  of  government — of  the  vi- 
ces of  society — of  the  desolations  of  cities  by  famines, 
and  pestilences,  and  earthquakes — of  the  eternal  mur- 
ders which  have  deluged  the  earth  with  blood  under  the 
name  of  wars — nay  of  that  conciousness  of  guilt  which 
speaks  in  the  bosom  of  every  man? 

From  this  view  of  the  state  of  human  nature,  what 
is  the  first  and  most  urgent  of  our  duties?  Is  it  not  sin- 
cere repentance?  Is  it  not  an  entire  change  of  heart — 
of  our  moral  conduct  and  principles  of  action?  Is  it  not 
a  deep  conviction  of  the  corruption  of  our  nature — of 
our  alienation  from  God  our  Maker — and  of  the  sen- 
tence of  eternal  death  which  his  law  continually  pro- 
nounces against  the  sinner?  What  is  the  fearful  im- 
port of  the  declaration  of  the  apostle,  that  we  are  by  na- 
ture the  children  oficrath?  Thy  wrath,  Almighty  God! 
who  can  endure?  Thy  displeasure.  Creator!  Father! 
Source  of  life!  who  can  support?     My  brethren!  has 


Fall  of  Man.  353 

one  sin  destroyed  the  universe?  cast  man  down  from 
an  immortal  and  almost  angelic  nature,  into  the 
depths  of  corruption  and  death?  And,  what  is  the 
des-^rt  of  so  many  actual  crimes  added  to  all  the 
forf  itures  of  the  first  transgression?  Our  state  is 
surrounded  with  unspeakable  danger  and  terror — 
but  the  gospel  opens  a  door  of  mercy.  It  has  pre- 
pared a  sacrifice  in  our  room  that  has  satisfied  all 
the  claims  of  divine  justice.  0  Sinner!  hasten  to  this 
altar — Cover  yourself"  under  the  merits  of  this  precious 
victim.  Make  your  peace  again  with  God  through 
him.  By  him  you  may  regain  your  lost  holiness,  and 
your  lost  immortality.  He  has  conquered  Death  and 
Hell  which  had  extended  their  dreadful  dominion  over 
us — He  has  triumphed  over  the  grave  that  we  might 
live  forever.  Believe  in  his  name — confide  in  his  mer-» 
cy — obey  his  laws.  All  the  evils  of  the  fall  will  be  re- 
paired by  him — and  the  primitive  innocence  and  glory 
of  man  will  be  more  than  restored  in  the  celestial 
Eden.     Amen! 


VOL.  I.  z  z 


ON  THE  LOVE  OF  PRAISE. 


Whatsoever  thing-s  are  of  good  report, if  there  be  any  praise^ 

think  of  these  things Phil.  iv.  8. 

The  supreme  motive,  in  the  heart  of  every  good  man, 
to  honorable  and  worthy  actions,  is,  the  pure  love  of 
goodn«;ss  and  of  virtue.  The  spirit  of  God,  however, 
has  not  di.^dained  to  employ,  as  an  auxiliary  principle 
of  duty,  that  love  of  praise,  or  of  standing  well  in  the 
opinion  of  our  fellow  men,  which  though  common  to 
mankind,  is  often  fielt  most  sensibly  by  generous  and 
noble  minds. 

As  virtue  pres(  nts  to  us  only  what  is  amiable  in  dis- 
position, what  is  honorable  and  manly  in  conduct,  or 
what  is  useful  to  society,  it  is  not  wonderful  that  it 
should  be  the  oDject  of  general  approbation.  In  like 
manner  all  the  noble  endowments  of  our  nature,  all 
distinguished  acquisitions  in  science,  all  extraordinary 
efforts  of  genius,  all  great  talents  for  the  management 
of  affairs,  if  they  are  seen  to  be  directed  by  disinterested 
and  virtuous  principles  to  public  good,  command  the 
applause  of  mankind.  And,  in  return,  the  approbation 
and  esteem  of  our  fellow  men,  being  among  the  ujost 
precious  rewards  of  virtue,  in  this  life,  are  also  justly 
ranked  among  its  most  powerful  and  laudable  incen- 
tives Youth  are  particularly  susceptible  of  the  influ- 
ence of  thi>  principle  And  praise  may  justly  be  held 
out  to  them,  as  a  motive  to  stimulate  every  improve- 


On  the  love  of  Praise.  ^55 

ment  of  their  natural  talents,  and  their  moral  powers. 
Mot  that  false  praise  which  vanity  solicits  for  superfi- 
cial or  frivolous  attainments;  not  that  corrupted  praise 
which  vice  bestows  on  the  ingenuity  which  is  employed 
to  defend  its  pleasures;  nor  those   mistaken   plaudits 
which  the  ignorance  and  passions  of  the  misguided 
multitude  too  often  yield  to  the  art  and  cunning  which 
mislead  them; — but  the  praise  which  i?  bottomed  upon 
piety  and  virtue;  upon  solid  goodness  and   usefulness; 
the  praise  of  actions  which  God,  which  conscience, 
which  the  world,  when  all  their  ends  and   motives  are 
known,  will  approve.     For  this  reason  the  apostle  has 
said,  "  Whatsoever  things  are  just,  whatsoever  things 
are  honorable*  whatsoever  things  are  true,  whatsoever 
things  are  lovely,"  before  he  adds,  "  if  there  be  any 
praise,  think  of  these  things," — that  is,  let  your  desire 
of  praise  be  connected  with  truth,  with  honour,  with 
justice,  and  with  all  that  is  amiable  in  life  and  man- 
ners.    But  this  principle,  however  justifiable  and  lau- 
dable,  when  properly  directed,  is  susceptible  also  of 
great  perversion  and  abuse;  and,  instead  of  invigorating 
and  unfolding  the  germs  of  goodness  and  worth,  or  of 
greatness  and  nobleness  of  character  in  the  hearts  of 
youth,  may  be  made  the  instrument  of  misleading  tliem 
into  the  most  pernicious  deviations  from  duty,  or  inci- 
ting them  to  vice. 

Let  me,  then  propose  to  your  consideration  the  love 
of  praise  under  two  views. 

*  This  is  the  meaniDg  of  the  origioal  word  translated  honest  in  our  vpt- 
sioD, 


356  On  the  love  of  Praise. 

I.  As  it  is  a  laudable  and  useful  principle  of  action 
— and, 

II.  As  it  may  be  corrupted,  and  possess  a  dangerous 
influence  on  the  heart. 

I.  The  love  of  praise  has,  evidently,  been  intended 
by  our  Creator  as  one  of  the  most  powerful  incentives 
to  actions  great  and  honourable  in  themselves,  and  bene- 
ficial to  mankind.  No  principle  raises  human  nature 
to  a  higher  tone  of  exertion.  And  when  all  its  activity 
is  directed  to  good  and  noble  ends,  it  may  justly  be  ex- 
pected to  lay  the  most  solid  and  sure  foundation  for 
reputation  and  esteem  in  every  sphere  of  life.  The 
collisions  of  interest,  indeed,  or  the  predominance  of 
party  passions  may,  for  a  season,  depress  merit,  and 
elevate  imbecility  or  vice  to  distinction; — Vanity  may, 
for  a  time,  be  caressed  by  the  insidious  flatteries  of 
those  who  despise,  while  they  court  it; — Wealth, 
though  acquired  by  crimes,  may  receive  a  deceitful 
and  interested  homage  from  dependants;  the  splendor  of 
conquest  may  dazzle  for  a  while  the  misjudging  worlds 
and  cover  with  a  false  and  temporary  lustre,  the  iriqui- 
ties  by  which  they  were  achieved,  and  the  miseries 
which  follow  in  their  train;  but,  they  are  talents  guided 
by  wisdom  and  piety,  and  directed  to  promote  the  in- 
terests of  humanity,  which  unite  the  suffrages  of  all 
mankind,  and  embalm  to  posterity  the  memory  of  good 
men,  and  the  fame  of  the  benefactors  of  nations. 

In  examining  the  principles  of  human  conduct  we 
will  often  find  this  passion  pervading  with  a  useful  in- 
fluence all  the  active  springs  of  our  nature.  It  serves 
to  polish  the  manners,  arid  to  circulate  those  amiable 


On  the  love  of  Praise.  357 

attentions  which  contribute  so  much  to  the  pleasure 
and  enjoyment  of  life.  The  delicacies  of  conversation, 
the  elegancies,  the  refinements,  the  charms  of  social 
intercourse  which  distinguish  civilized  from  savage 
man,  all  spring  from  the  mutual  desire  of  pleasing  and 
the  reflected  hope  of  being  respected  and  beloved. 
Praise  often  cherishes  in  the  youthful  breast  the  seeds 
of  future  worth,  and  infuses  into  them  the  principles  of 
a  vigorous  growth.  And  a  generous  emulation  to  ex- 
cel is  usually  regarded,  at  that  period,  as  the  presage 
of  all  that  is  wise,  and  virtuous,  and  manly  in  after  life. 
Praise  has  trimmed  the  lamp  of  the  student,  has  gui- 
ded and  animated  the  hand  of  the  artist,  and  often  ad- 
ministered the  noblest  incentives  to  the  fires  of  genius. 
To  what,  indeed,  do  we  owe  the  poets,  the  orators,  the 
statesmen,  the  patriots,  the  heroes,  who  have  adorned, 
and  shed  a  glory  on  the  respective  nations  which  have 
given  them  birth?  I  will  not  exclude  the  operation  of 
other,  and  of  higher  principles  in  the  formation  of 
many  of  these  great  characters;  but  certainly  one,  and 
that,  by  no  means  the  weakest  in  its  influence,  has  been 
the  proud  hope  of  being  rewarded  with  the  esteem  of 
their  country;  or  the  still  prouder  hope  of  enjoying 
that  immortality  in  the  memory  of  men  which  genius 
so  often  confers  on  its  possessor;  or  which  the  public 
gratitude  sometimes  endeavours  to  bestow  on  illustri- 
ous services  rendered  to  the  interests  of  humanity. 
Those  nations  have,  accordingly,  flourished  most  who 
have  best  known  how  to  touch  this  powerful  spring  of 
great  and  honorable  actions.  A  statue,  a  tripod,  a 
triumph,  even  a  laurel  crown,  or  an  oaken  wreath, 


358  On  the  love  of  Praise. 

bestowed  as  a  mark?  of  the  public  favour,  contributed 
to  elevate  the  genius  of  Greece  and  Koine,  above  tliat 
of  all  other  nations. — What  dangers  will  not  men  en- 
counter, what  labors  will  they  not  undergo,  what  self 
denials  not  endure,  in  order  to  obtain  a  high  place  in 
the  est'em  of  mankind?  None  can  be  entirely  insen- 
sible to  it  except  those  who  are  conscious  to  themselves 
that  they  want  worth  to  deserve  it.  Base  and  nmlig- 
nant  must  be  that  heart  which  is  wholly  indifferent  to 
the  o[)inion  of  the  world. 

The  love  of  praise,  therefore,  when  cherished  in  its 
due  degree,  not  only  incites  the  youth  to  useful  im- 
provement, and  prompts  the  man  to  the  performance 
of  actions  of  conspicuous  merit,  but  is  intimately  con- 
nected with  those  respectful  and  benevolent  regards  to 
mankind,  which  form  the  finest  ties  of  human  society. 
Whatsoever  things,  then,  are  lovely,  in  themselves,  and 
in  the  esteem  of  the  world,  if  there  be  any  virtue,  and 
i/*  there  be  any  praise  resting  on  these  amiable  and  sohd 
foundations,  think  of  these  things. 

From  so  many  considerations  does  it  appear  that  the 
love  of  praise,  when  directed  to  proper  objects,  and 
preserved  within  proper  bounds,  is  a  legitimate,  and  a 
laudable  principle  of  action.  Our  blessed  Saviour 
himself,  who  was  the  most  humble  and  self-denied  of 
men,  has  not  disdained  to  employ  it  as  a  motive  and 
reward  of  good  deeds  in  the  example  of  the  grateful 
sister  of  Lazarus,  who  had  just  given  him  a  costly  tes- 
timony of  her  affectionate  attachment: — "  Verily  I  say 
unto  you,  wheresoever  this  gospel  shall  be  preached  iu 
the  whole  world,  there  shall  also  this,  that  this  woman 


On  the  love  of  Praise.  359 

hath  done,  be  told  for  a  memorial  of  her."  And  God 
hath  denounced  it  as  a  curse  on  the  wicked,  that  ^^  their 
name  shall  rot;''  but,  ''  blessed  shall  be  the  memory  of 
the  just;''  "  They  shall  be  had  in  everlasting  remem- 
brance" 

As  a  noble  encouragement  to  piety,  to  virtue,  to 
philanthropy,  to  the  cultivation  of  all  your  intellectual 
and  moral  powers,  remember  that  these  are  the  quali- 
ties which  chiefly  comuiand  the  esteem  of  mankind, 
and  procure  for  their  possessor  that  "  good  name  which 
is  better  than  precious  ointment;"  and  is  infinitely  more 
to  be  vahied,  than  the  splendor  of  riches,  or  of  power. 
The  one  is  exposed  to  envy,  the  other  begets  affection 
and  confidence;  the  one  may  excite  admiration,  the 
other  commands  esteem;  the  one  may  awaken  in  the 
bosom  the  pride  of  superiority,  a  cold  unsocial  senti- 
ment, the  other  attracts  love,  than  which  a  sweeter 
consciousness  comes  not  to  the  heart.  Riches  and 
honors  pass  away,  or  descend  to  others  who  enjoy  the 
benefit,  and  forget  the  favor — the  memory  of  a  good 
man  is  precious.  While  he  lives  he  ujarches  encom- 
passed with  his  virtues,  which  attract  round  him  the 
hearts  of  his  fellow  citizens;  and  when  he  dies,  he  car- 
ries with  him  their  regrets  and  their  tears. 

Ah!  did  the  princes  and  rulers  of  the  earth  know 
wherein  their  true  glory  consists,  they  would  find 
it,  not  in  the  splendors  which  dazzle  the  eyes,  and  re- 
pel the  groans  of  a  miserable  people:  not  in  the  power 
which  imposes  its  yoke  on  subject  nations;  not  in  the 
mercenary  flatteries  with  which  they  are  worshipped 
in  fife;  nor,  at  death,  in  the  magnificient  monuments. 


360  On  the  love  of  Praise. 

and  proud  inscriptions  which  he  to  posterity;  but  in  the 
fehcity  of  their  country,  in  the  blessings  and  prayers 
of  nations  made  happy  by  their  wisdom. — Those  who 
have  extorted  by  arbitrary  force,  or  stolen  by  insidious 
arts,  a  false  glory  during  their  lives,  shall  be  held  up 
in  their  true  light  to  posterity.     Their  private  faults, 
the  public  evils  which  have  flowed  fr»»m  their  vices, 
will  be  dragged  from  beneath  the  veil  with  which  pow- 
er, or    dependent  adulation  had  attempted   to  cover 
them;  and  condemned,  by  the  faithful  severity  of  his- 
tory, to  the  reprobation  and  contemptof  future  ages.  But 
the  justice  and  maganimity  of  great  rulers,  the  wisdom 
and  integrity  of  able  legislators  and  statesmen,  the  illus- 
trious actions,  or  the  generous  sacrifices  of  patriots  and 
heroes,  the  talents  which  have  adorned  the  age  in  which 
they  flourished,  the  extraordinary  mental  powers  which 
have  given  direction  to  the  great  movements  of  the 
world  shall,  in  the  language  of  the  sacred  writer,  be 
had  in  everlasting  remembrance. 

In  every  station  of  hfe,  then,  in  which  men  may  be 
placed  by  divine  providence,  they  may  justly  regard  an 
honest  fame  as  among  the  purest  and  holiest  motives 
of  a  noble  and  virtuous  conduct.  Whatsoever  things  are 
of  good  report ;  if  there  be  any  virtue,  if  there  be  any 
praise,  think  of  these  things. 

That  a  fair  reputation  is  a  valuable  possession,  that 
the  love  of  praise,  when  directed  by  just  principles, 
and  preserved  within  due  bounds,  is  not  only  an  allow- 
able but  a  laudable  motive  of  action,  will  not  be  de- 
nied. But,  Uke  all  the  best  propensities  and  powers  of 
our  nature,  it  is  capable  of  being  perverted  and  it  of- 


On  the  love  of  Praise,  361 

ten  is  perverted,  to  ends  very  different  from  those  for 
which  it  was  implanted  in  the  heart  of  man  by  his 
Creator. 

II.  Of  its  abuses,  therefore,  permit  me  next  to  speak, 

It  may  be  excessive.  It  may  be  ill  directed,  and  be- 
come the  minister  of  vice. 

The  praise  of  men,  as  has  been  already  said,  far 
from  being  the  governing  motive  of  our  conduct, 
should  only  be  auxiliary  to  the  pure  love  of  virtue,  and 
a  pious  submission  of  heart  to  the  vvill,  and  the  law  of 
God  It  should  be  subordinate,  as  a  principle  of  action, 
even  to  the  approbation  of  our  own  consciences,  and  to 
that  self  respect  which  it  will  ever  be  the  care  of  a  wise 
and  good  man  to  cultivate.  The  noblest  enjoy nientof  vir- 
tue and  piety,  next  to  the  sense  of  the  favor  of  God, 
is  derived  from  the  conscious  rectitude  of  our  own  con- 
duct; and. that  inward  tranquilhty  and  peace  which  a 
Self  approving  conscience  sheds  through  the  whole 
soul.  A  good  man  will  always  be  able  to  rest  upon 
himself,  if  the  caprice  of  the  world  should  deny  him  his 
honest  fame,  or  even  the  malignant  arts  of  his  enemies 
should  succeed  for  a  time,  to  overwhelm  him  with  ca- 
lumnies. 

The  desire  of  praise,  when  it  becomes  excessive, 
and  this  is  its  first  abuse,  puts  your  happiness  too  much 
in  the  power  of  others,  both  for  your  comfort  and  your 
duty.  For  although  greattalents  will  generally  be  admir- 
ed, and  virtue  esteemed;  yet,  many  events  may  occur 
to  rob  the  best  of  men  of  that  reputation  to  which 
their  merits  justly  entitle  them.  They  may  be  sunk  in 
obscurity;  they  may  be  thrown,  in  tjie  course  of  fro^ 

VOL,   L  B  A 


362  On  the  love  of  Praise. 

vidence,  into  situations  unfavourable  to  the  display  of 
their  talents^  or  their  virtues.  Ignorance  may  not  be 
able  to  appreciate  them;  prejudice  may  distort  them, 
misfortune  may  cast  them  under  a  cloud,  party  pas- 
sions may  taint  them,  slander  may  tarnish  then),  envy 
may  corrode  them,  the  unsuspecting  candor,  frankness, 
and  honesty  of  the  most  innocent  minds  may  often  lay 
them  open  to  the  attacks  of  artful  and  designing  enemies. 
Beware,  then,  of  setting  your  heart  too  fondly  on  a  pos- 
session so  perishable  and  uncertain.  For  if  you  fail  to  at- 
tain it,  by  having  formed  a  wrong  estimate  of  your  own 
powers,  or  the  opinions  of  the  world;  or  if  you  should 
be  deprived  of  it,  by  the  arts  of  rivals,  or  of  enemies, 
you  will  be  overwhelmed  with  anguish.  But,  seek  first 
the  praise  of  God,  and  of  your  own  hearts.  Hence  you 
will  derive  the  truest  and  most  lasting  happiness.  And 
although  the  approbation  of  your  fellow  men  would  be 
a  sweet  ingredient  in  the  enjoyment  of  Hfe;  yet,  the 
want  of  it  will,  in  that  case,  inflict  no  fatal  wound  on 
your  peace;  you  will  have  a  happiness  secured  above 
the  arts  of  malice  and  the  storms  of  misfortune. 

It  deserves  to  be  particularly  remarked,  in  the  next 
place,  that  when  this  passion  becomes  too  visible,  man- 
kind often  take  a  pleasure  in  disappointing  our  vanity. 
And  the  truth  is,  vanity  forfeits  a  great  part  of  the  es- 
teem which  would  otherwise  be  paid  to  the  virtues 
with  which  it  is  sometimes  connected.  Not  even  the 
splendid  talents  and  illustrious  services  of  Cicero, 
could  save  him  from  the  contempt  and  ridicule  of  his 
cotemporaries.  When  he  would  have  it  beheved  that 
he  was  wholly  devoted  to  the  republic,  he  seemed  to  be 


On  the  love  of  Praise.  36S 

»ot  less  devoted  to  his  own  glory,  and  was  thought  by 
many  of  his  Countrymen,  to  be  a  patriot  only  for  fame. 
To  repress  still  further  the  criminal  excess  of  this 
passion,  which  invades  that  supremacy  of  duty  and 
love  which  we  owe  to  God,  reflect  how  often  is  praise 
unjustly  withheld,  by  ignorant  or  envious  men  from 
your  most  deserving  qualities,  or  your  most  meritorious 
actions:  how  often  it  is  injudiciously  bestowed  upon 
the  undeserving;  how  often  it  is  given  to  the  most  fri- 
volous accomplishments:  how  often  it  is  won  by  the 
most  superficial  appearances  of  merit;  how  often  it  is 
stolen  from  the  multitude  by  base  compliances,  and 
hypocritical  professions;  and  how  often,  if  you  possess 
power,  or  wealth,  or  beauty,  it  is  impossible  to  distin- 
guish sycophancy  ti-om  esteem,  and  flattery  from  sincere 
attachment,  ileflect  moreover,  that  the  breath  of  mor- 
tals, however  soothing  to  our  vanity,  cannot  soothe  the 
cold  ear  of  death,  or  follow  us  beyond  the  grave.  If 
it  hangs  over  our  tombs  for  a  few  moments,  like  a  light 
vapour,  it  is  soon  dissipated  by  the  passions  which  oc- 
cupy and  agitate  the  surviving  world,  or  sinks  down  in 
the  chill  night  of  an  eternal  oblivion.  Nothing  but  the 
testimony  of  a  good  conscience,  and  a  sincere  trust  in 
the  Redeemer,  can  support  the  soul  when  all  human 
things  are  passing  away,  and  it  finds  itself  entering 
alone  through  the  valley  of  shades*  into  the  eternal 
world.  Let  not  the  praise  of  men,  therefore,  if  you 
receive  it,  unduly  elate  you;  nor  if  it  is  withheld,  be  too 

*  The  valley  of  shades,  was  the  name  by  which  a  dark  vale  not  far  from 
Jerusalem,  was  distinguished,  which  furnished  to  the  sacred  poet,  the  illu- 
ision  contained  in  this  figure. 


364  On  the  love  of  Praise. 

much  depressed,  if  you  have  the  higher  praise  of  your 
const  ience,  of  your  works,  and  of  God. 

As  the  love  of  praise,  when  it  is  suffered  to  hold  too 
high  a  place  in  the  heart,  will  necessarily  disappoint 
you,  and  will  often  defeat  its  own  aims;  so,  by  receiv- 
ing a  wrong  direction,  it  becomes  the  minister  of  sin. 

If  the  applauses  of  those  with  whom  you  associate 
are  the  chief  objects  of  your  ambition,  what  tempta- 
tions do  they  not  lay  in  your  way,  when  you  happen 
unfortunately  to  be  connected  with  men  who  substitute 
fashion  for  duty,  and  who  justify  vice  by  example? 
Your  contempt  of  religion,  and  of  sober  manners  will, 
in  such  connections,  often  outrun  fashion  itself;  you 
will  be  ambitious  to  obtrude  your  example  among  the 
first  in  every  modish  scene  of  dissipation. 

But,  most  dangerous  is  this  passion  in  the  associa- 
tions of  young  men,  who  are  yet  in  the  full  tide  of  folly; 
whose  reason  has  not  been  enlightened,  and  whose 
passions  have  not  been  chastened  by  experience;  who 
mistake  sprightliness  for  wit,  and  effrontery  for  talent. 
Here,  he  who  can  point  out  new  roa  Is  to  plea-u  "e;  he 
who  can  most  ingeniously  defend  the  vices  of  fashion, 
or  with  the  greatest  dexterity  wield  a  stroke  against 
the  authority  or  the  doctrines  of  religion;  he  who  is 
most  daring  in  his  own  conduct  to  overleap  the  bounds 
prescribed  by  the  prudence  of  wisdom,  and  the  cau- 
tion of  experience,  will  always  be  encouraged  with 
thoughtless  and  giddy  applause.  Leaders  in  vice  who 
are  bold  and  assuming,  ever  meet  with  followers  and 
imitators,  sooner  perhaps,  than  the  patrons  and  exam- 
ples of  virtue  and  piety,  who  are  modest  and  retiring. 


On  the  love  of  Praise.  3C5 

Here,  in  the  noisy  plaudits  of  your  companions,  you 
will  learn  to  drown  tl>e  voice  of  conscience,  and  the 
awful  menaces  of  religion;  here  will  you  soon  be  in- 
cited ostentatiously  to  trample  on  the  restraints,  which 
you  miscall  the  prejudices,  of  a  pious  education;  and 
to  contemn  the  sober  opinion  of  the  world.  You  will 
affect  to  be  more  impious  and  profligate  than  you  are, 
till  you  become  as  profligate  and  impious  as  you  affect 
to  be.  Ah!  how  many  unhappy  youth,  aspiring  to  dis- 
tinction among  such  associates,  have  precipitated  their 
own  destruction. 

Looking  a  little  higher,  among  the  ranks  of  litera- 
ture^ and  turning  over  the  volumes  of  infidelity  and 
immorality,  which  the  press  has  so  copiously  poured 
upon  the  present  age,  I  say  to  myself  of  these  perni- 
cious writings,  that  spring  from  the  corrupt  affections 
of  the  heart;  how  many  have  their  immediate  source  in 
that  vanity  which  aspires  to  gain  the  reputation  of  su- 
perior wit  and  strength  of  mind,  by  attacking  all  an- 
cient systems,  by  boldly  assailing  the  sacred  doctrines 
of  religion,  and  maintaining  every  extravagant  novelty  of 
opinion.  All  the  libertine,  all  the  vain,  all  who  are  lovers 
of  pleasure  more  than  lovers  of  God;  that  is,  unhappily, 
the  greater  portion  of  all  the  higher  circles  of  society, 
are  ready  to  extol  with  excessive  praise,  and  crown  with 
the  laurels  of  genius,  the  authors  who  would  emanci- 
pate them  from  the  thraldom  of  religious  fear,  and  lay 
the  spectres  which  haunt  the  gloom  of  the  grave.  \u 
an  age  of  luxury  and  pleasure,  this  misapplication  of 
talent  opens  an  easy  path  to  that  airy  temple  which 
false  wit,  and  superficial  science,  have  erected  on  an 


366  On  the  love  of  Praise. 

humble  eminence,  decorated  with  artificial  flowers,  in 
opposition  to  the  genuine  temple  of  Fame,  planted  on 
the  summit  of  an  arduous  cliff,  the  ascent  to  which  is 
always  difficult  and  laborious.  The  incessant  applaus- 
es of  the  giddy  throng  who  surround  it  below,  seduce 
a  crowd  of  authors,  who  hasten  thither  to  offer  their 
works  on  the  altars  of  vice.  Alas!  deplorable  talents! 
corrupted  while  they  corrupt!  Applauded  by  those  on- 
ly whom  they  are  helping  to  destroy! 

in  the  false  and  pernicious  direction  given  to  this 
passion,  we  may  find  the  cause  of  many  of  those  dis- 
orders, which  have  disturbed  the  tranquillity  of  free 
governments.  Often  it  created  the  most  dangerous  fer- 
ments in  the  httle  republics  of  Greece.  And  we  do 
not  want  examples  among  ourselves  of  the  most  odious 
factions,  excited  and  nourished  by  this  principle.  It  is 
not  alv\a}s  the  love  of  a  little  brief  authority,  nor  even 
the  mean  avarice  of  gaining  a  few  extraordinary  emol- 
uments in  the  public  service,  which  sets  your  restless 
demagogues  on  work,  (although  not  a  small  proportion 
of  our  pretended  patriots  are  governed  by  such  unwor- 
thy motives),  but,  frequently,  vain  men,  with  no  other 
talents  than  presumption  and  loquacity,  are  ambitious 
of  obtruding  themselves  on  the  public  view.  Ambitious 
of  vulgar  praise,  they  study  to  seize  on  some  popular  to- 
pic to  stir  the  commonalty  into  violence  and  frenzy. 
The  best  characters  are  the  subjects  of  their  slander; 
the  best  measures  they  find  some  low  and  mercenary 
ground  of  defaming;  while  they  strive  to  raise  into  a 
flame  a  fickle,  envious  and  ignorant  populace,  with 
whom  a  violent  and  worldly  zeal  is  too  often  the  proof  of 


On  the  love  of  Praise.  367 

patriotism.  Little  scrupulous  of  the  means  they  employ 
to  accomplish  their  end,  the  public  good,  which  is  their 
loudest  pretence,  is  their  least  concern.  All  their  ob- 
ject is  to  rise  into  favour  on  the  agitated  tide.  And, 
for  a  while,  perhaps,  they  ride  in  triumph,  supported 
on  the  bubbles  they  have  raised.  The  bubbles  break, 
and  leave  them  to  sink  into  their  native  obscurity;  other 
favourites,  not  less  ambitious  and  possibly  more  un- 
principled than  themselves,  agitate  this  multitudinous 
ecean  by  a  new  storm.  They  hurl  their  predecessors 
into  the  troubled  waves,  in  the  midst  of  which,  like 
them,  they  ride,  for  a  little  while,  till,  in  their  turn, 
they  are  precipitated  by  new  pretenders.  In  the  mean 
time,  their  country  suffers  innumerable,  evils;  till  at 
last,  they  make  the  very  name  of  patriotism  be  ab- 
horred: and  the  distracted,  and  so  often  deluded  peo- 
ple, seek  some  dreadful  remedy  for  pohtical  disorders 
at  length  become  intolerable. 

Perhaps,  a  still  more  deplorable  effect  of  this  mis- 
guided passion,  is  seen  when  it  ascends  to  the  very 
seat  of  Moses  and  the  apostles,  and  corrupts,  in  the 
mouths  of  the  teachers  of  religion,  the  purity  and  sim- 
plicity of  its  truths.  On  this  subject  two  opposite  evils 
•ften  dishonour  the  sanctuary  of  truth.  While  somC; 
studious  only  to  please  the  circles  of  polite  fashion, 
prophesy  smooth  things,  and  bring  down  the  standard 
of  evangelic  morality  to  what  fashion  prescribes,  or 
the  delicacy  of  luxury  will  bear;  others,  destitute  of 
talents  to  edify  the  church  of  God  by  the  extent  and 
variety  of  their  knowledge,  or  the  powers  of  a  cultiva- 
ted elocution,  address  themselves  to  catch  the  applause 


368  On  the  love  of  Praise. 

of  zeal  from  the  misjudging  multitude,  who  seldom 
are  able  to  distinguish  an  assumed  fervor  from  the  ge- 
nuine warmth  of  sincere  piety.    With  noise,  with  rant, 
with  terror,  by  whatever  engines  will  move  and  agitate 
rude  minds,  but  equally  distant  from  the  genuine  spirit 
of  religion  as  the  vicious  complaisance  of  the  former, 
they  pursue  their  unworthy  ends.     There  are  dema- 
gogues in  religion  as   well  as  in  politics,  whose  chief 
aim  it  is  to  render  themselves  conspicuous  in  a  party. 
But  all  the  flashings  of  their  fiery  zeal  cannot  conceal 
from  a  true  discerner  of  the  human  heart,  the  unwor- 
thy passions  which,  under  the  mask  of  humble  devo- 
tion,  are  helping  to  blow  the  flame,  for  the  purposes 
of  their  own  vanity.     Among  all  impieties,  hardly  can 
one  be  mentioned  more  odious  to  Heaven,  and  to  all 
good  men,  than  to  stand  up  in  the  temples,  and  in  the 
name  of  the  Most  High,  only  to  seek  our  own  gl»ry. 
To  soften  down  to  the  taste  of  fashionable  pleasure,  on 
the  one  hand,  those  holy  and  eternal  truths  on  which 
depends   the  salvation   of  immortal  souls;  or,  on  the 
other,  to  convert  the  humble,  devout,  and  reasonable 
service  of  the  living  God  into  the  frantic  bowlings  of 
the  idolatrous  woishippers  of  Moloch,  or  of  Dagon.    I 
know  not  which  should  most  shock  a  rational  and  pi- 
ous mind,  to  see  an  Adonis  present  himself,  like  a  ser- 
vant of  the  Graces,  before  the  awful  altars  of  Jeho- 
vah; or  to  see  an  ignorant  and  presumptuous  mortal 
throwing  himself  into  a  counterfeited  frenzy;  dealing 
out  the  denunciations  of  Heaven  on  his  fellow  crea- 
tures,  according  as  his  own  passions  impel  him;  ap- 
proaching his  Creator  and  Redeemer  with  the  most 
indecent  familiarities  of  expression;  and  pouring  forth 


On  the  love  of  Praise.  369 

his  own  incoherent  rhapsodies,  instead  of  the  words  of 
truth  and  soberness; — Those  divine  truths  which  we 
ought  always  to  touch  with  the  same  reverence  and 
awe,  with  which  the  priests  of  Israel  approached  the 
ark  of  the  covenant,  or  Aaron  and  his  sons  entered 
into  the  holy  of  holies. — Oh!  impiety!  thus  hypocriti- 
cally to  employ  religion  to  serve  the  base  purposes  of 
our  own  vanity!  to  dare  attempt  to  make  God,  if  1  may 
speak  so,  pander  to  our  vile  praise! 

Thus  the  love  of  praise,  when  it  is  excessive,  or  ill 
directed,  may,  in  many  ways,  corrupt  the  heart.  We 
have  often  seen  it,  when  lavishly  and  indiscreetly  be- 
stowed, deprave  those  excellent  dispositions  which  at 
first  deserved  it.  Acquired,  in  the  beginning,  by  the 
exercise  of  the  most  modest  virtues,  it  has  at  last  in- 
flated  the  heart  with  an  odious  vanity,  and  created  a 
spirit  self-conceited,  arrogant,  and  intractable.  Ah!  how 
little  does  vanity,  or  pride,  become  a  man  in  the  midst 
of  his  fellow  men!  a  brother  in  the  midst  of  his  breth- 
ren!— above  all,  a  worm  of  the  dust  in  the  presence  of 
the  infinite  Creator! 

But  though  the  love  of  praise  when  it  is  excessive, 
or  misplaced,  is  attended  with  so  many  evils  and  dan- 
gers, yet  have  we  seen  it,  when  properly  regulated^ 
ever  united  with  a  generous  emulation  to  excel,  and 
become  the  parent  of  the  most  valuable  improvements 
in  society,  and  of  the  highest  virtues.  Separate  it  from 
the  pernicious  principles  with  which  it  is  often  con- 
joined, and  I  will  again  and  again  repeat,  with  the  apos- 
tle,— "  Whatsoever  things  are  of  good  report;  if  there 
VOL.   I.  3  b 


370  On  the  love  of  Praise. 

be  any  virtue,  if  there  be  any  praise,  think  of  these 
things." 

But,  it  is  time  to  address  myself  to  the  last  duty  of 
this  day,  giving  my  parting  counsels  to  those  youth  who 
have  just  finished  their  course  of  studies  in  this  insti- 
tution, and  offering  up  for  them  my  most  fervent 
prayers. 

Young  Gentlemen, 

"We  now  touch  on  the  last  moments  of  our  union  as 
instructor,  and  as  pupils.  It  is  a  moment  always  ac- 
companied with  many  serious  reflections.  You  are 
parting  from  the  retirements  of  your  studies.  The  vast, 
and  various  prospect  of  life  is  before  you,  with  all  its 
uncertainties  and  dangers,  its  hopes  and  disappoint- 
ments, its  rivalships  and  contentions,  its  labors  and 
its  duties.  I  look  upon  you  like  a  mariner  who  has 
just  passed  an  agitated  ocean,  while  you  are,  as  yet, 
only  launching  amidst  the  waves.  He  hopes,  he  prays 
for  the  success  of  so  many  young  and  ardent  adven- 
turers; but  he  tren)bles  at  the  hazards  in  which  he 
knows  you  will  presently  be  involved.  At  a  moment, 
then,  in  which  many  recollections  and  anticipations  na- 
turally press  upon  the  mind  to  dispose  it  to  solemnity, 
and  to  awaken  in  our  bosoms  many  tender,  as  well  as 
serious  emotions,  may  I  not  hope  that  instructions  to 
which  you  have  often  listened  with  deference,  will 
make  upon  your  hearts  a  more  lasting  impression  than 
on  ordinary  occasions. 

In  the  course  of  your  studies  it  has  ever  been  an  ob- 
ject with  the  government  of  this  institution  to  nourish 


On  the  love  of  Praise.  371 

in  your  bosoms  a  generous  emulation  to  excel,  and  to 
fan  that  love  of  praise,  which,  united  with  the  love  of 
science,  and  the  nobler  sentiments  of  duty,  would 
stimulate  you  to  the  highest  exertion  of  the  best  pow- 
ers and  faculties  of  your  nature.  Still  continue  to 
cherish  that  useful  principle  which  will  impel  you  for- 
ward in  the  career  of  honourable  improvement.  In  the 
youthful  breast  it  can  hardly  be  excessive.  Not  yet 
tainted  by  the  envy  of  rivalship,  or  the  intrigues  of  am- 
bition, which  so  often  corrupt  the  passions  of  riper 
years,  its  earliest  tendencies  are  to  lead  you  to  virtue; 
to  prompt  you  to  the  cultivation  of  every  talent,  the  ac- 
quisition of  every  accomplishment  which  will  awaken 
in  your  favor,  on  all  sides,  the  voice  of  praise.  How 
lovely  is  youth  when  we  behold  in  it  all  the  symptoms 
of  a  virtuous  sensibihty;  all  the  ardor  of  a  generous 
emulation;  all  the  noble  purposes  of  duty;  all  the  mo- 
dest consciousness  at  once  of  worth,  and  of  the  imper- 
fection of  its  attainments!  all  the  auguries  of  future 
honor,  and  usefulness! 

Cultivate  a  generous  love  of  praise.  At  your  age, 
it  will  be  a  powerful  incentive  to  virtue:  to  genius  it 
will  be  Uke  the  animating  rays  of  the  sun,  which  give 
life,  action,  and  energy  to  the  whole  creation. 

What  then  are  those  qualities  which  procure  for 
their  possessor  the  highest  honor  and  distinction  among 
men?  Are  they  not  the  great  endowments  of  the 
mind,  and  the  good  affections  of  the  heart?  On  a  noble 
magnanimity,  on  diffusive  benevolence,  on  unshaken 
integrity,  on  a  warm,  rational,  and  dignified  piety,  on 
extensive  science,  on  a  powerful  and  manly  eloquence^, 


372  On  the  love  of  Praise. 

on  the  masterly  ability  of  combining  and  applying  all 
the  branches  of  knowledge  for  the  purposes  of  public 
utihty,  are  founded  the  most  solid  claims  to  public  es- 
teem. Superficial  talents,  and  showy  but  hollow  pre- 
tensions,  may  deceive  the  multitude  for  a  moment;  but 
experience  and  time,  which  disclose  the  true  charac- 
ters of  men,  and  the  sounder  judgments  of  the  wise, 
which  ultimately  prevail  over  hasty  and  ill  founded 
opinions,  will  strip  from  them  the  laurels  with  which 
ignorance  had  crowned  them. 

It  is  the  union  of  talents  with  virtue  which  forms  the 
true  foundation  of  lasting  praise.  Virtue  will  procure 
for  you  higher  confiidence  from  your  fellow  citizens, 
talents  spread  round  you  greater  lustre.  It  is  on  the 
union  of  both  that  you  should  build  your  hopes  of  ho- 
nou    and  esteem. 

Be  not  in  haste,  then,  to  enter  on  the  exercise  of 
those  various  liberal  professions  to  which  most  of  you 
intend  hereafter  to  devote  your  faculties.  Wait  with 
patience  the  development  of  the  full  powers  of  your 
minds;  and  continue  long  to  collect,  with  persevering 
industry,  from  every  source,  the  treasures  of  know- 
ledge, which  are  necessary  to  fit  you  to  appear  with 
distinction  and  eminence,  before  you  advance  into  the 
public  theatre  of  life.  A  prudent  delay  will,  in  the  end, 
be  gaining  both  time  and  reputation.  But  if  you  are 
impatient  to  display  your  talents^  or  to  enter  on  the  ac- 
quisition of  a  pitiful  gain,  and  therefore  content  your- 
selves with  hasty  and  superficial  preparations,  you  will 
probably  march  through  your  whole  course  with  feeble, 
nerveless,  and  obscme  eilbrts,  which,  if  they  do  not  c<^ 


On  the  hve  of  Praise.  373 

ver  you  with  contempt,  will,  at  least,  leave  you  sunk 
among  the  vulgar  throng  who  make  up  the  mass,  or 
drag  at  the  tail  of  their  respective  professions. 

Whence  is  it  that  we  hear  from  the  pulpit  so  many 
insipid,  and  common-place  discourses,  without  illumi- 
nation to  gratify  the  understanding,  and  without  energy 
to  impress  the  heart?  Seldom,  perhaps,  is  it  to  be  as- 
cribed to  the  absolute  defect  of  natural  capacity,  but  to 
the  want  of  due  preparation  for  discharging  honorably 
and  usefully  the  fun<tions  of  this  holy  office.  Whence 
is  it  that  many  a  young  preacher,  after  being  well  re- 
ceived for  a  few  discourses,  becomes  at  last  spiritless, 
and  insipid,  and  addresses  only  fatigued  and  listless 
audiences.^  He  has  exhausted  his  scanty  intellectual 
funds,  and  has  nothing  new  to  produce  from  his  im- 
poverished treasury. 

Whence  is  it  that  the  noble  and  dignified  science  of 
justice,  so  often  degenerates  into  a  pitiful  pettifogging 
and  chicanery.^  Young  men  without  diligence  and 
application,  meanly  furnished  with  juridical  knowledge, 
and  destitute  of  the  rich  and  varied  powders  of  eloquence 
derived  from  a  general  acquaintance  with  other  arts, 
have  addicted  themselves  only  to  the  meagre  forms, 
and  the  dishonourable  quibbles  of  the  law. — And  is 
it  not  lamentable  to  see,  in  so  many  instances,  men, 
ignorant  of  the  first  elemeitts  of  civil  and  jjolitical 
science,  presuming  to  prescribe  laws  to  the  republic; 
and  pretending,  without  the  smallest  consciousness  of 
their  own  insufficiency,  to  direct  the  relations,  and  set- 
tle the  jarring  interests  of  the  state  with  foreign  na- 
tions! Interests,  relations,  lawb,  which  require  a  con- 


374  On  the  love  of  Praise. 

summate  knowledge  of  the  principles  of  civil  society, 
the  most  extensive  information  concerning  the  political, 
commercial,  and  military  state  of  the  civilized  world, 
the  most  vigorous  powers  of  combination,  a  penetra- 
tion which  pervades  at  a  single  glance  the  most  com- 
plicated systems;  a  comprehension  able  to  embrace  at 
one  view  the  most  remote  consequences;  a  perspicacity 
fitted  to  unravel  the  most  intricate  questions  of  policy. 
Among  your  most  valuable  attainments  let  me  add, 
that  it  is  especially  important,  in  a  free  country,  to  cul- 
tivate a  forcible  and  persuasive   eloquence.     I  may 
surely  address  myself  to  an  American  scholar  in  the 
language  which  Sir  William  Jones  has  used  to  a  young 
British  nobleman  whom  he  was  desirous  of  training  up 
to  the  knowledge  and  management  of  public  affairs. 
"  I  am  fully  convinced,  says  he,  that  an  Englishman's 
real  importance  in  his  country  will  always  be  in  a  com- 
pound ratio  of  his  virtue,  his  knowledge,  and  his  elo- 
quence, without  all  of  which  qualities  httle  real  utility 
can  result  from  either  of  them  apart." 

Bui,  remember,  it  is  not  the  noisy  declamation  of  a 
town-meeting,  nor  the  crude  and  incoherent  garrulity 
which  so  often  fatigues  the  attention,  and  delays  the 
public  business,  in  our  legislatures,  which  will  enable 
an  orator  to  coiiibine  the  great  interests,  and  guide  the 
movements  of  a  nation.  To  perform  this  with  success 
he  should  thoroughly  comprehend  those  interests,  he 
should  possess  a  perspicacious  mind,  clearly  to  develop 
them,  he  should  be  able  to  forsee,  and  to  obviate  all 
difficulties  which  will  oppose  the  execution  of  his  plans, 
he  should  derive  light  and  information  from  all  ages, 


On  the  love  of  Praise.  375 

he  should  understand  the  true  character,  powers,  and 
resources  of  his  country,  he  should  discern  the  best 
means  of  drawing  them  into  operation,  he  should  know 
how  to  touch  all  the  springs  of  human  action.  Behold 
what  a  field  is  before  the  real  statesman!  These  were 
the  pow^ers  which  gave  Demosthenes  so  great  an  as- 
cendant over  all  the  corrupted  politicians,  and  noisy  de- 
magogues of  Athens.  These  were  the  powers  which 
made  even  the  ujost  polished  orators,  who  knew  only 
the  modulation  of  periods,  and  charmed  the  ear  with- 
out enhghtening  the  understanding,  yield  to  his  sdpe- 
rior  illumination  and  energy.  He  did  not  deem  it  suf- 
ficient to  declaim  with  angry  and  boastful  vehemence 
against  the  public  enemy.  This  would  have  been  an 
easy  task  to  a  far  inferior  orator.  He  penetrated  and 
displayed  the  artful  designs  of  the  Macedonian  king: 
— he  unfolded  the  true  interests  of  Greece:  he  por- 
trayed in  strong  colours  the  storm  which  impended 
over  his  country,  he  pointed  out;,  at  the  same  time  the 
resources  with  which  she  was  able  to  meet  and  dispel 
it;  he  showed  to  Athens  her  own  strength:  he  entered 
into  the  minutest  details  of  her  finance;  he  understood 
the  views  and  intrigues  of  every  state  which  could  af- 
fect the  interests  of  his  own  country;  he  knew  how  to 
resuscitate  from  the  slumbers  of  luxury,  the  ancient 
vigor  of  the  republic;  all  the  stores  of  history  were  open 
to  his  use;  all  the  lights  of  science,  all  the  powers  of 
language,  were  summoned  to  his  aid. — Were  these 
mighty  effects  the  fruit  of  superficial  attainments,  of 
hasty  studies,  of  precipitately  intruding  himself  into  the 
management  of  affairs  ?  You  know  his  history— his  la^ 


^76  On  the  love  of  Praise. 

bors;  his  long  continued  and  intense  application;  his 
obstinate   conflicts  with  the  difficulties  which  nature 
opposed  to  his  success.  But  he  resolved  to  become  the 
first  statesman  and  orator  in  Greece;  and  he  became 
so.  But,  why  propose  such  an  illustrious  and  transcend- 
ant  example  to  young  men  who,  as  yet,  are  only  enter- 
ing on  their  literary  career? — Because  every  young 
man,  who  desires  to  excel,  should,  from  the  beginning, 
have  his  view  and  his  ambition  fixed  on  the  highest 
models.     But   this  example,  while  it  is  calculated  to 
excite  the  ardor  of  your  emulation,  is  fitted  also  to  en- 
courage your  hopes,  and  may  serve  to  show  you  how^ 
much  is  in  your   power.     For  it  is  a  maxim    which 
ought  to  be  engraven  on  the  heart  of  every  ingenuous 
youth  to  whom  nature  has  not  been  extraordinarily  de- 
ficient in  her  gifts,  that,  like  the  Athenian  orator  he 
can  accomplish  whatever  he  is  firmly  resolved  to  do. 
But,  let  me  add,  that  the  love  of  praise,  when  it  is 
not  made  the  handmaid  of  vanity,  but  is  modest  and 
well-directed,  will  make  you  studious  especially  to  gain 
the  approbation   of  those  whom  it  is  your  duty,  and 
whom  it  will  be  your  chief  honor  and  happiness  to 
please.  To  be  ever  ready  to  do  good  to  the  lowest  of 
mankind  is  an  exalted  virtue;  but  to  be  ambitious  of 
the  applauses  of  the  ignorant  and  fickle  multitude  is  a 
low  aim;  and  to  collect  them  is  not  a  difficult  task  to 
those  who  can  stoop  to  the  dishonourable  arts  which 
are  requisite  for  this  end.     Be  it  your  ambition  to  de- 
serve the  esteem  of  the  wise  and  good,  whose  opinion 
will  stamp  a  worth  upon  your  name.   Cultivating  their 
esteem,  you  will  be  supported  also  by  the  conscious- 


On  the  lave  of  Praise.  37 

Hess  of  your  own  hearts; — that  noble  consciousness 
which  God  has  made,  next  to. his  own  approbation, 
the  most  precious  reward  of  virtue;  and  which  will 
console  you  like  Socrates,  and  like  Phocion,  or,  to  take 
a  higher  example,  like  Daniel,  if,  at  any  time,  the  ma- 
lignant arts  of  rivals  or  of  enemies  should  prevail 
against  you. 

Prepare  to  deserve,  hereafter,  the  approbation  of 
your  country  by  meritorious  and  distinguished  services, 
as  so  many  of  the  sons  of  the  college  have  done  who 
once  occupied  the  place  in  which  you  now  stand. 
Men  who  have  not  enjoyed  the  advantages  of  liberal 
culture  are  permitted  to  confine  their  views  to  a  nar- 
row sphere.  But  education  imposes  higher  duties  on 
her  sons,  and  enforces  them  by  sublimer  examples. 
Patriotism  was  the  first  of  virtues  to  a  Greek,  or  a 
Roman.  He  sucked  it  in  with  his  first  milk;  he  inhaled 
it  with  his  vital  breath;  to  strengthen  this  passion  all 
his  studies,  his  discipline,  his  exercises  were  directed. 

But  passing  all  other  considerations,  permit  me  to 
press  upon  you  one  which  cannot  fail  to  touch  the  heart 
of  an  ingenuous  youth.  Among  your  highest  aims  let 
it  ever  be,  to  deserve  the  praise  and  the  love  of  those 
to  whom,  immediately,  you  owe  your  existence;  and 
who  have  the  deepest  stake  in  your  honor  and  felicity. 

The  sweetest  recompense  which,  as  dutiful  sons, 
you  can  receive  for  all  the  ^elf-denials  of  your  early 
virtues,  must  be  to  witness  the  happiness,  and  the  hon- 
est pride  of  those  who  have  loved  you  with  supreme  ten- 
derness, whose  hearts  have  throbbed  with  ten  thousand 
anxieties  over  your  inexperienced  years,   who  have 

VOL.  I.  3  c 


378  (^n  the  love  of  Praise. 

made  so  many  painful   sacrifices  to  your  education, 
when  they  behold  all -their  sacrifices,  their  anxieties, 
their  love,  repaid  by  your  duty,  and  rewarded  by  youl* 
improvement.     I  seem  to  participate  with  them  the 
tender  delight,  the  sweet  rapture  in  which  they  are  dis- 
solved, when  on  your  return  they  believe  they  are  em- 
bracing in  their  arms  their  worthy  sons.     If  the  world 
were  filled  with  your  praises,  methinks  the  idea  dear- 
est to  you,  must  be  the  delicious  pride  which  your  repu- 
tation and  honor  must  reflect  to  the  heart  of  an  affec- 
tionate parent.      Ah!  what  a  motive  to  improvement! 
what  a  reward  for  excelling!     The  most  amiable  trait 
in  the  character  of  the  great  Epaminondas  was  his 
fihal  piety.     Being  asked  which  was  the  happiest  cir- 
cumstance in  a  life  distinguished,  as  his  was,  by  illus- 
trious deeds,  and  the  admiration  of  his  countrymen; 
."it  was,  says  he,  that  after  my  victory  at  Leuctra  my 
father  and  mother  were  both  living  to  enjoy  the  honors 
paid  me  by  my  fellow  citizens."     If  this  virtue  displays 
a  more  resplendent  lustre  surrounded  with  the  glory  of 
heroic  actions,  yet  this  lovely  sentiment,  in  my  opinion, 
confers  more  real  greatness  on  the  Theban  hero  than 
all  his  victories.     The  thought  of  rendering  happy  a 
father,  or  a  mother  by  our  own  virtues  and  honors, 
how  precious  to  the  heart  of  a  dutiful  son!     There  are 
no  personal  gratifications  he  would  not  forego,  there  are 
no   sacrifices  he  would  not  make,  to  enjoy  it.     But 
why  do  I  speak  of  sacrifices.^     When  it  is  your  own 
virtue,  honor,  reputation,  when  it  is,  in  a  word,  your 
own  happiness  which  makes  them  happy. — Imagine 
you  see  the  tear  of  tenderness  and  delight  start  in  their 
eyes  at  these  your  first  honors;  and,  with  their  venera- 


On  the  hve  of  Praise.  379 

ble  and  beloved  forms  before  you,  resolve  that  they 
never  shall  have  cause  to  blush  for  then'  sons. 

But  if,  in  any  instance,  they  have  already  descended 
to  the  tomb,  and  left  you  to  maintain  the  honor  of  their 
families,  let  your  virtues  prove  the  noblest  monument 
to  their  memory. 

Would  to  God  that  I  could  inspire  this  pure  and  vir- 
tuous sentiment  into  the  bosom  of  every  American 
youth!  It  would,  along  vsdth  religion,  to  which  it  is 
intimately  allied,  be  the  surest  foundation  of  the  pros- 
perity and  glory  of  my  country. — "  Honor  t-hy  father 
and  thy  mother,  saith  the  Spirit  of  God  to  the  people 
of  Israel,  that  thy  days,  that  is,  thy  existence  as  a  na- 
tion, may  be  long  upon  the  land  which  the  Lord  thy 
God  giveth  thee." 

I  have  recommenced  the  praise  of  your  friends,  of 
your  country,  and  of  mankind,  as  a  motive  to  duty; 
and  pointed  out  the  good  effects  that  may  result  fi-om 
your  desire  to  obtain  it.  Bear  with  me  however,  a  few 
moments,  while  I  caution  you  against  the  dangerous 
consequences  which  may  spring  from  the  abuse  of  this 
passion. 

JNIany  young  men  who  have  early  discovered  a  cer- 
tain promptness  and  vivacity  of  parts,  courted  and  ca- 
ressed as  the  life  of  every  gay  company,  have  cultiva- 
ted only  those  superficial  talents  which  made  them  en- 
tertaining companions,  and  attracted  the  unthinking  ap- 
plauses of  levity  and  mirth.  Having  glittered  awhile  in 
the  circles  of  fashion  or  of  dissipation,  they  have  after- 
wards sunk  into  insignificance  and  all  their  early 
promises  have  perished. 


380  On  the  love  of  Praise. 

Their  vanity,  nourished  by  the  praises  of  their 
friends,  led  them  to  imagine  that  they  already  shone 
with  the  lustre  of  genuine  wit  at  the  summit  of  the 
mountain,  while  they  only  flashed  like  meteors  at  the 
bottom  for  a  few  moments  and  disappeared.  Between 
sprightliness  of  parts,  and  the  capacities  of  a  great 
mind,  between  promptness  of  wit,  and  solidity  of  under- 
standing, between  the  brilliancy  of  certain  companion- 
able qualities  and  mature  wisdom,  there  is  a  wide  dif- 
ference. i\nd  young  men  fascinated  by  the  noisy  plau- 
dits bestowed  on  these  frivolous  accomplishments,  have 
too  frequently  misapplied  their  time,  and  given  a  wrong 
direction  to  the  early  efforts  of  their  genius.  Thus 
have  been  blasted  all  the  opening  blossoms  of  hope; 
and  the  first  rich  promise  of  fruit  has  withered  and 
dropped  from  the  tree  before  it  came  to  maturity. 

When  vanity  assumes  a  merit  to  itself  lor  the  novel- 
ty, the  extravagance,  or  impiety  of  the  principles  it 
maintains,  it  presents  to  us  one  of  the  most  fatal  symp- 
toms of  a  depraved  heart.  It  is  dangerous  even  to 
sport  opinions  of  which  you  are  not  firmly  persuaded, 
in  order  to  gain  the  praise  of  ingenuity  and  wit.  But 
lost,  and  commonly  beyond  recovery,  is  the  unhappy 
youth  whom  the  vanity  of  receiving  the  applause  of 
loose  and  profligate  companions  leads  to  place  himself 
at  the  head  of  associations  for  vice.  Stimulated  by 
their  flatteries,  he  outgoes  even  his  own  desires  for 
indulgence;  and  far  outgoes  his  convictions  of  what  is 
consistent  with  reason,  or  with  duty.  In  proportion  to 
the  ascendance  he  has  assumed  among  them,  must  he 
be  more  profligate  than  they;  aim  a  more  poignant 


On  the  love  of  Praise.  381 

ridicule  at  virtue,  more  impious  scoffs  against  religion, 
Oh!  fatal  vanity!  which  is  hastening  the  perdition  of 
the  soul,  and  laying  up  for  them  the  eternal  execrations 
of  those  whom  they  have  ruined  by  their  example,  and 
who  are  now  ruining  them  by  their  guilty  praise. 
"  Of  you,  I  may  say  with  the  apostle,  I  hope  better 
things,  though  I  thus  speak." 

But  in  the  conclusion  of  this  address,  suffer  me  to 
repeat  to  you,  that,  however  laudable  in  youth  is  a 
generous  love  of  praise,  it  should  never  hold  the  chief 
sway  among  the  motives  of  your  conduct.  It  should 
ever  be  subordinate  to  a  pure  and  ardent  love  of  virtue, 
and  reverence  for  religion,  and  even  to  a  just  and  noble 
respect  for  yourselves.  But,  the  first  object  of  desire  to 
every  reasonable  being  should  be  the  approbation  of 
God.  He  who  embraces  all  being  in  himself  is  the 
sovereign  good.  What  is  the  transient  breath  of  mortals 
compared  to  his  favour  ivhich  is  life.,  and  his  loving 
kindness  which  is  better  than  life?  Vam  is  all  human 
glory,  separated  from  virtue  and  from  the  love  and  ser- 
vice of  the  living  God.  The  laurels  of  the  conquerors 
of  the  world  have  long  since  withered  on  their  brows 
— the  proudest  monuments  of  princely  vanity  have  been 
long  since  levelled  with  the  dust,  the  most  splendid 
works  of  genius  and  of  art  consecrated  to  the  fame  of 
illustrious  men,  are  continually  passing  to  obhvion,  and 
the  world  itself  shall  perish;  but  those  who  love  God 
shall  inhabit  with  him  the  praises  of  eternity. 

Never  can  you  too  profoundly  impress  it  on  your 
hearts  that  God  your  Creator  possesses  the  supreme 
right  to  all  the  powers  of  your  being.    From  him  they 


382  On  the  love  of  Praise. 

are  derived,  to  him  they  ought  continually  to  tend. 
How  amiable  and  lovely  in  youth  is  piety,  which  draws 
down  the  spirit  of  heaven  to  earth;  which  opens  on  the 
beginning  ofhfe  the  fairest  blossoms  of  hope;  which 
consecrates  to  our  adorable  Creator  and  Redeemer 
the  bloom  of  existence;  and  is  preparing  in  the  heart 
the  ripened  fruit  of  a  blessed  and  glorious  immortality. 
The  early  contact  of  the  soul,  if  1  may  speak  so,  with 
infinite  purity,  which  is  effected  by  the  power  of  devo- 
tion, at  once  ennobles  and  purifies  its  being,  and  pre- 
pares it  for  those  holy  and  ineffable  joys  which  perfect 
spirits  taste  in  the  presence  of  God. 

Retiring  as  you  now  are  from  these  studious  retreats 
in  which  you  have  spent  many  hours  of  refined  and 
social  pleasure;  and  dissolving  many  pleasing  ties  which 
have  hitherto  united  you  with  your  literary  associates, 
let  these  separations  remind  you  of  that  more  serious 
moment  when  you  must  part  with  all  human  friend- 
ships; and  when  the  world  fading  from  your  view,  shall 
leave  you  no  support  in  the  conflict  with  death,  and  no 
consolation  at  the  bar  of  Heaven,  but  the  mercy  and 
grace  of  your  Redeemer,  and  the  review  of  life  spent 
in  obedience  to  his  holy  will.  So  live,  and  employ  the 
talents  which  God  has  given  you,  that  the  supreme 
Judge,  assembhng  round  you  in  that  day  your  good 
works,  may,  from  this  tribunal,  proclaim  them  to  the 
universe,  to  your  everlasting  glory  and  praise. 

As  I  am  now  performing  the  last  office  which  my 
station  requires  in  superintending  this  period  of  your 
education;  for  your  diligence,  for  your  laudable  ambi- 
tion, in  any  instance,  to  excel;  for  all  that  you  have 


On  the  love  of  Praise,  383 

done  well  for  your  own  honor  and  interest,  or  for  the 
general  interest  of  morals  and  letters  in  the  college, 
accept  my  thanks.  For  nothing  is  dearer  to  my  heart 
than  the  improvement  in  every  useful  and  ornamental 
endowment  of  those  whose  education  has  been  com- 
mitted to  my  charge. 

If,  in  the  course  of  your  studies,  I  have,  through  in- 
advertance  or  mistake,  injured  the  feelings  of  one  per- 
son in  the  class,  I  trust  that  my  motives,  and  the  ar- 
duousness  of  my  situation  will  excuse  it.  All  that  is 
past  is  forgotten,  except  your  virtues.  Henceforward 
I  regard  you  as  equals,  and,  as  men.  One  emotion 
only  occupies  my  heart  in  a  fervent  aspiration  to  hea- 
ven, for  your  honor  and  usefulness  in  life;  and  for  your 
everlasting  salvation.  0  blessed  Jesus!  Saviour  and 
advocate  of  mankind!  who  dost  offer  the  sincere  prayers 
of  thy  people  before  God,  deign  to  present  this  prayer 

with  acceptance  at  the  heavenly  throne! 

Adieu' 


ON  RULING  SIN. 


And  the  sin  which  doth  so  easily  beset  us.     Htb.  xii,  I. 

Frequently,  in  the  sacred  writings,  the  self-de- 
nials, and  the  arduous  duties  of  the  christian  hfe  are 
represented  by  images  drawn  from  the  athletic  exer- 
cises, so  customary  in  that  age,  for  which  the  comba- 
tants were  obliged  to  qualify  themselves  by  a  vigorous 
preparatory  discipline,  and  in  which  during  the  actual 
contlict  they  were  obliged  to  exert  the  utmost  powers 
of  nature  in  contending  for  the  honorable  prize.     In 
this  passage  the  apostle  borrows  his  allusions  from  the 
race;  a  contest  for  which  they  prepared  themselves  by 
an  exact  temperance  as  well  as  by  a  long  course  of 
pirevious  and  active  exercises.     In  the  race  itself,  they 
disencumbered  themselves  of  every  weight,  that,  being 
free  from  whatever  might  obstruct  their  speed,  or  de- 
press their  energies,  they  might  have  better  hope  to 
gain  the  goal  in  triumph.  This  analogy  the  apostle  ap- 
plies to  the  progress  of  a  christian  through  the  present 
evil  world.      It  requires  all  the  vigor  of  soul,  all  the 
self-denial,  all  the  earnestness  and  zeal  which  were 
ever  exerted  in  the  best  disputed  race.     Heaven  is  the 
glorious  prize  proposed  to  our  activity  and  perseve- 
rance in  duty.     But,  inheriting  as  we  do  a  degenerate 
nature,  placed  in  the  midst  of  innumerable  temptations, 


Our  Ruling  Sin.  385 

we  are  impeded  in  our  course  by  the  weights  which 
our  corru|»tions  hang  on  ail  the  devout  and  pious  ten- 
dencies of  the  soul.  It  is  a  course  in  which  we  are 
obliged  continually  to  ascend  towards  the  heavenly 
hills  against  all  the  propensities  of  a  corrupted  heart, 
and  in  which  we  are  obliged,  too  often,  to  struggle 
under  an  oppressive  load  of  worldly  and  impure  aflfec- 
tions,  which  weigh  down  the  soul,  and  hinder  its  ad- 
vancement in  its  spiritual  course.  Christians!  if  you 
would  obtain  the  victory  in  this  race,  if  you  would 
gain  the  immortal  prize  which  is  set  before  you,  dis- 
encumber yourselves  of  every  weight,  hut  especially,  says 
this  great  apostle,  of  that  sin  which  doth  so  easily  beset 
you. 

Every  sinful  propensity,  every  excessive  and  world- 
ly attachment  and  care,  all  our  unsanctified  passions 
and  pursuits,  form  so  many  impediments  in  our  chris- 
tian race;  so  many  dangerous  obstacles  to  the  attain- 
ment of  our  salvation.  But,  there  is  commonly  some 
one  passion,  indulgence,  or  pursuit,  to  which  each  man 
is  chiefly  prone,  which  enters  more  into  his  character 
than  other  sinful  propensities,  which  may  be  deemed 
his  constitutional  or  prevailing  evil,  and  which  this 
great  writer  calls  the  sin  which  doth  so  easily  beset  us. 
Infecting  all  the  powers  of  the  soul,  and  mingling  with 
all  its  movements,  it  forms  the  principal  hindrance  to 
the  return  of  a  sinner  to  God  by  sincere  repentance, 
and  is  the  principal  obstruction  even  of  a  believer  in 
his  progress  towards  Heaven.  It  often  hangs  as  a 
heavy  weight  upon  the  soul;  it  retards  his  speed  and 

VOL.  1.  3  P 


386  Our  Ruling  Sin. 

slackens  his  diligence,  and  oppresses  within  him  the 
springs  of  the  divine  hfe. 

That  we  may  the  better  understand  this  sin,  and  be 
enabled  to  comply  with  the  exhortation  of  the  apostle, 
let  me — in  the  first  place,  point  out  its  distinguishing 
characters — and  in  the  next  place,  offer  to  the  peni- 
tent sinner  some  means  to  dehver  him  from  its  dange- 
rous power;  and  to  throw  off  its  oppressive  weight. 

1 .  In  order  to  point  out  its  distinguishing  characters 
with  the  more  precision,  let  us  consider  it  both  in  its 
operations  and  its  causes. 

1.  And  first  in  its  operations. — 

These  you  will  find  in  your  thoughts,  your  senti- 
ments, your  affections,  your  pursuits.  Your  predomi- 
nant evil  then  may  often  be  learned  by  considering 
what  are  those  objects  and  images  which  most  fre- 
quently offer  themselves  to  your  thoughts.'^  which  most 
readily  move  your  affections,  or  at  the  view  of  which 
your  passions  now  quickly  kindle.  What  are  those 
gratifications  on  which  you  are  willing  to  bestow  the 
greatest  portion  of  your  time,  for  which  you  are  rea- 
dy to  make  the  greatest  sacrifices?  What  is  that  which 
most  readily  offers  itself  to  your  mind  when  free  from 
other  engagements.?  Wliat  is  most  apt  to  obtrude 
itself  into  the  midst  of  other  engagements,  and  even 
into  the  most  serious  moments  of  devotion.?  To  give 
some  examples;  do  you  find  these  images  and  objects 
in  your  worldly  gains.?  in  voluptuous  pleasures.^  in 
sensual  indulgences.?  in  the  vanity  and  ostentation  of 
your  person.?  Or,  do  you  find  them  in  the  malevolent 
passions,  the  resentments,  the  envy,  the  revenge  which 


Our  Ruling  Sin. 


are  continually  rankling  in  the  dark  and  malignant  bo- 
som? Like  Haman  does  the  honor  of  Mordecai  dis- 
turb your  thoughts,  and  rob  you  of  your  peace?  Like 
the  envious  children  of  Jacob,  are  you  always  conceiv- 
ing, planning,  or  wishing  some  evil  towards  a  more 
fortunate  brother?  Like  Nabal,  do  you  deny  yourself 
to  all  the  sweet  and  pious  offices  of  cJiarity  and  human- 
ity, for  the  sake  of  hoarding  up  a  vile  treasure?  Like 
Sampson  ensnared  by  the  wiles  of  an  artful  seducer, 
are  you  willing  to  desert  virtue,  and  honor,  and  repu- 
tation, for  an  unlawful  pleasure?  Like  the  sons  of  Be- 
lial, do  you  find  your  supreme  delight  in  riot,  intoxica- 
tion, and  debauchery?  Like  the  saunter ers  in  the  pa- 
rable, is  it  your  chief  gratification  to  stand  all  the  day 
idle,  to  gape  at  the  corners  of  the  streets  for  news,  for 
anecdote,  for  slander,  and  indolently  to  herd  with  those 
who  have  nothing  farther  in  view  than  to  pass  the 
time?  Like  the  young  man  in  the  gospel,  though  you 
may  have  many  amiable  qualities,  are  you  notwith- 
standing, so  devoted  to  the  world  that  there  is  still  one 
possession  which  you  cannot  sell,  one  pleasure  which 
you  cannot  renounce  that  you  may  follow  Christ?  The 
purport  of  these  inquiries  is  to  ask  if  worldliness  and 
idleness,  if  the  love  of  sensual  pleasure,  if  avarice,  if  en- 
vy, the  irritable  and  wrathful  passions,  give  the  prevail- 
ing features  to  your  character?  Behold  then  the  evil 
against  which  the  holy  apostle  earnestly  exhorts  you  to 
struggle; — the  power  against  which  he  encourages  you 
to  contend; — the  weight  which  he  commands  you  to 
lay  aside. 


388  Our  Rulinpi;  Sin.' 

Ag;ain,  you  may  know  the  sin  which  most  easily  be- 
sets yon.  Examine  your  convictions,  when,  at  any 
time,  the  divine  word  has  been  apphed  with  power  to 
your  heart. — When  convinced  of  your  duty,  when  pe- 
netrated with  the  sentiments  of  rehgion;  and  ahiiost 
persuaded  to  be  a  christian;  whryt  is  that  sin  which  you 
forsake  with  the  greatest  reluctance?  To  which  you 
cling  with  the  fondest  attachment;  for  which  you  are 
most  desirous  to  find  apologies  to  your  own  heart? 
which  you  strain  the  language,  or  the  examples  of  the 
scriptures  to  justify?  or  which,  in  the  face  of  the  Scrip- 
tures, you  press  your  reason  to  palliate  or  excuse?  What 
is  that  pleasure  for  which  you  will  go  the  most  doubt- 
ful lengths  in  your  condu't?  that,  in  a  word,  for  which 
you  would  be  v,  Jling  to  make  the  sacrifice  of  all  your 
other  sins  if  you  could  be  permitted  to  enjoy  this  in 
peace?  By  such  inquiries,  and  such  reflections  upon 
your  own  heart  and  character,  may  you  learn  to  know 
and  distinguish  that  sin  which  is  the  most  dangerous 
enemy  of  our  s?]vation;  which  requires  the  most  holy 
resolution  and  fortitude  to  tear  the  heart  from  its  in- 
fluence; and  which,  more  than  all  others,  demands  un- 
ceasing self-command  and  watchfulness  over  our 
thoughts  and  actions. 

Other  discriminating  characters  of  this  sin  we  may 
derive  from  considering  its  sources.  Not  unfrequently, 
it  seems  to  flow  from  a  certain  natural  temperament 
of  constitution,  we  see  men  at  different  times  who  ap- 
pear by  an  original  propensity  of  nature,  to  be  strong- 
ly addicted  to  avarice,  to  lust,  to  envy,  to  revenge,  or 
pride.     These  vices  display  themselves  with  the  first 


Our  Riding  Sin.  389 

passions  of  childhood,  and  strongly  mark  the  first  open- 
ings of  the  character.  Having  struck  their  roots  deep- 
ly into  the  soil  of  nature,  they  grow  almost  without  our 
consciousness,  and  require  the  greatest  vigilance,  the 
greatest  self  command,  and  even  the  greatest  powers 
of  divine  grace  to  subdue  them.  If  they  are  only  neg- 
lected they  increase  by  those  continued  impulses  from 
within,  which  are  forever  pushing  them  on  to  excess; 
and  they  soon  add  the  force  of  habit,  to  the  tenden- 
cies of  nature. — Habit  often  becomes,  itself,  an  inde- 
pendent and  powerful  principle  of  the  sin  of  which  the 
apostle  speaks.  Even  where  nature  has  given  no  pe- 
culiar bias,  what  strength,  what  almost  irresistible  force 
do  certain  vices  acquire  by  the  influence  of  habit 
alone?  Is  it  not  from  this  principle  rather  than  trom 
the  remaining  vivacity  of  sensations  and  appetites 
which  have  been  long  cloyed  and  blunted,  by  excess, 
that  debauchery  and  profligacy,  still  retain  their  pow- 
er over  old  and  debilitated  libertines .''  But  let  me  in- 
stance in  two  vices  to  which  mankind  are,  perhaps, 
never  led  by  original  propensity^  or  taste.  I  mean  in- 
temperance and  profanity.  Intoxicating  liquors  are, 
in  the  beginning,  almost  always  tasted  with  disrelish.'* 
But  company,  but  example,  but  solicitation,  but  gayety 
and  levity  of  spirits,  but  idleness  which  requires  some 
excitement  to  the  indolent  and  relaxed  powers  of  na- 
ture, allured  on  the  drunkard  by  degrees,  and  at  length 
created  tliat  destructive  and  almost  unconquerable  ap- 
petite, so  ruinous  to  health,  to  mterest,  to  peace  of 
mind,  to  domestic  happiness,  to  social  order,  to  every 
worthy  and  respectable  quality  of  human  nature.  And 


390  Our  Ruling  Sin. 

hardly  can  he  now  see  his  idle  companions,  and  never 
can  he  taste  the  ensnaring  and  poisonous  draught,  hut, 
at  once,  he  loses  all  self-command^  and  to  his  shame 
and  ruin  he  is  dragged  as  a  fool  to  the  correction  of 
the  stocks. 

In  the  next  place,  is  there  any  natural  impulse  or 
temptation  to  profanely  using  the  holy  name  of  Al- 
mighty God?  Yet,  do  we  not  see  it,  by  a  shameful 
and  pernicious  habit,  incorporated  by  certain  individu- 
als into  the  whole  tissue  of  their  discourse?  Hardly 
can  they  address  one  another,  hardly  can  they  express 
their  resentments  or  their  pleasures,  hardly  can  they 
breathe  but  through  the  medium  of  profanity.  Al- 
though religion  loudly  prohibits  it,  although  their  own 
reason  condemns  it,  although  it  is  an  offence  against 
decency  as  well  as  against  God,  and  to  make  the  mild- 
est apology  for  it,  which  can  be  made,  it  is  an  un- 
meaning vulgarity  of  language,  which  those  who  pos- 
sess any  just  sentiments  of  propriety  as  well  as  of  du- 
ty, frequently  resolve  to  lay  aside,  yet  the  unworthy  ha- 
bit still  cleaves  to  them.  It  is  a  sin  which  besets  them 
at  every  moment,  and  is  speedily  tending  to  destroy 
in  their  hearts  all  veneration  for  God  their  Creator, 
and  all  regard  to  his  holy  and  awful  inspection. 

If  our  ruling  sin  sometiiries  arises  out  of  original 
propensity  and  taste,  if  it  is  more  frequently  created  by 
habitual  indulgence,  does  it  not  often  spring  also  out 
of  situations  and  connexions  into  which  in  the  course 
of  Providence,  or  by  our  own  imprudence,  we  may 
have  been  thrown  in  life? — Is  not  poverty,  for  exam- 
ple, and  a  state  of  dependence  exposed  to  the  sins  of 


Our  Ruling  Sin.  S91 

envy,  of  discontent  at  the  dispensation  of  Divine  Provi- 
dence? Is  not  wealth  exposed  to  the  sins  of  presump- 
tion and  pride,  of  luxury  and  voluptuousness?    How 
often  have  unhappy  reverses  of  fortune  fatally  tempted 
men  to  dishonesty  and  fraud?    How  often  has  sudden 
and  unexpected  wealth  immersed  them  in  worldly  cares, 
or  in  dissipated  pleasures,    which  have  induced,  at 
length,  an  entire  oblivion  of  God  and  of  the  duties  of 
religion?    How  often  have  imworthy  friendships,  im- 
prudent and  vicious  associations  engaged  men,  unwari- 
ly at  first,  and  at  length,  habitually  in  a  fatal  course  of 
folly  and  of  crimes?    Hhere  has  the  dissolute  youth 
contracted  those  vices  which,  in  spite  of  his  own  con- 
victions, are  dragging  him  captive  at  their  will?  Where 
has  the  worthless  gambler  learned  his  infamous  trade? 
Where  has  the  contemptible  lounger  acquired  his  ha- 
bits of  idleness?    The  prodigal,  the  intemperate,  the 
profligate,  where  have  they  depraved  and  corrupted  all 
their  powers  both  of  body  and  of  soul?    Was  it  not  in 
that  vicious  society  into  which  accident  first  has  thrown 
them,  and  which  imprudence  afterwards  has  cherish- 
ed?— In  innumerable  ways  may  accidental  connexions, 
circumstances,  situations  contribute  to  form  the  cha- 
racters of  men,  and  to  create  that  dominant  and  habi- 
tual sin  which  becomes,  at  length  the  tyrant  of  the 
soul,  and  the  principal  hindrance  to  their  salvation. 

2.  But,  it  is  not  enough  to  expose  to  you  this  sin, 
and  to  represent  its  dangers;  it  is  not  of  less  impor- 
tance to  consider  by  what  means  we  may  be  enabled 
to  overcome  its  power,  and  lay  aside  its  weight  in  our 
christian  course.    Our  first  study  it  should  be  then,  by 


392  Our  Ruling  Sin. 

diligent,  serious,  and  faithful  self-inquiry  to  discern  this 
complexional  and  characteristic  evil  which  the  scrip- 
tures emphatically  call  the  plague  of  our  own  hearts. 

Truly  to  understand,  and  sincerely  to  be  disposed 
to  confess  it  to  ourselves  and  to  God,  is  already  more 
than  half  the  victory  gained.  Against  it  chiefly,  in  the 
conflicts  of  the  Heavenly  race,  should  the  vigilance 
and  the  holy  zeal  of  every  believer  be  directed,  that  he 
may  thoroughly  eradicate  it,  and  obtain  the  entire  com- 
mand over  all  the  passions  and  appetites  of  nature 
Ti^hich  impel  to  its  indulgence,  or  which  tend  to  che- 
rish it  and  increase  its  strength.  But,  if  you  endea- 
vour only,  or  principally  to  correct  and  restrain  other 
sins  to  which  you  are  less  enslaved,  while  this  beloved 
and  dominant  lust  still  holds  the  throne  of  your  heart, 
however  you  may  thereby  promote  many  of  the  decen- 
cies of  life,  the  essence  of  the  character  remains  un- 
changed. It  is  lopping  off  a  few  branches  from  a 
poisonous  tree,  while  its  root  is  suffered  to  remain  fix- 
ed in  the  earth. 

How  then  .^  do  you  ask,  are  we  able  of  ourselves 
to  lay  aside  the  weight  of  this  sin  which  so  easily  besets 
us,  the  principles  of  which  we  carry  with  us,  and  which 
is  incorporated  into  our  whole  nature.''  Can  a  corrup- 
ted heart  cure  itself.^  It  is  true  that,  for  this  end,  we 
must  obtain  the  aids  of  the  Holy  Spirit.  But  there  are 
duties  on  our  part  to  which  in  the  order  of  Divine  grace, 
those  aids  are  mercifully  attached  by  God.  And  God 
may  be  said  to  have  placed  our  salvation  in  our  own 
power;  because  he  has  put  it  in  our  power  always  to 
obtain  his  aid. 


Our  Ruling  Sin.  393. 

Of  these  duties  the  first  in  order,  and  perhaps  in  in- 
fluence, is  fervent  and  continual  prayer.  God  is  ever 
ready  to  impart  his  grace  to  those  who  ask  in  sinceri- 
ty, and  persevere  at  his  footstool  with  a  holy  constan- 
cy. He  has  promised  in  his  blessed  word,  and  the  ex- 
perience of  the  saints  has  verified  his  promise,  thati^e 
ivho  asketh  shall  receive,  he  who  seeketh  shall  find,  and 
to  him  who  knocketh  it  shall  he  opened.  These  are  on- 
ly accumulated  images  to  express  the  holy  prevalence 
of  prayer.  Prayer,  at  the  same  time  that  it  obtains  the 
merciful  assistance  of  God,  invigorates  all  the  energies 
of  the  soul  in  its  conflicts  with  the  world,  and  the  powd- 
er of  sin.  In  aid  of  prayer,  employ  those  holy  precau- 
tions which  your  Irailty  requires,  retire  from  the  scenes 
which  awaken  your  passions^from  the  temptations 
which  inflame  impure  desires — from  the  opportuni- 
ties which  favour  indulgence — from  whatever  would 
excite  or  call  into  action  that  sin  which  so  easily  besets 
you.  Measures  of  precaution  are  necessary  to  be 
combined  with  the  most  active  and  vigorous  resist- 
ance. It  is  necessary  sometimes  with  Job  to  make  a 
covenant  with  your  eyes. 

To  prayer,  to  vigilance,  to  all  the  precautions  of  pru- 
dence, unite  habitual  and  profound  meditation  on  di- 
vine things.  Assemble  in  your  minds  all  the  conside- 
rations of  religion,  all  the  motives  to  duty,  which  can 
either  weaken  the  force  of  the  passions,  or  encourage 
and  animate  your  ardor  in  the  christian  course.  Often 
profoundly  occupied  in  the  contemplation  of  God  in  the 
courts  of  his  house,  or  the  retirements  of  your  private 
devotion,  let  every  unhallowed  passion  be  silentbefore  the 

VOL.  J.  3  E 


^^4-  Our  Ruling  Siii. 

purity  of  his  holiness  and  the  majesty  of  his  glory.  In 
the  infinite  changes,  and  the  approathing  dissolution 
of  all  earthly  things,  seriously  consider  the  vanity  of 
the  world,  the  temptations  of  which  nourish  and  keep 
alive  the  power  of  that  dangerous  sin.  Place  before 
your  mind  in  all  its  grandeur  and  solemnity,  in  all  its 
terrors  and  its  joys  that  eternal  existence  on  which  you 
are  shortly  about  to  enter.  Behold  in  the  universal  expe- 
rience of  mankind,  recognize  in  your  own  experience, 
the  worthlessness  and  imperfection  of  all  sinful  plea- 
sures, the  emptiness  of  all  sinful  pursuits,  the  deplora- 
ble issue  of  all  those  proud  honors,  and  those  vain 
splendors  with  which  sinners  have  dazzled  the  eyes 
of  their  fellow  sinners,  that  they  may  not  acquire  any 
dangerous  hold  upon  your  heart.  Above  all,  profound- 
ly meditate  on  those  high  rewards,  those  crowns  and 
palms  of  glory  which  are  proposed  to  the  christian  vic- 
tor at  the  end  of  his  race,  and  shall  adorn  his  hands, 
or  encircle  his  head  in  the  immortal  kingdom  of  God. 
Could  a  simple  wreath  of  laurel,  could  the  shouts  of 
the  agitated  and  impatient  spectators,  inspire  with  such 
resolution,  with  such  perseverance,  with  such  inex- 
tinguishable ardor,  those  who  contended  for  the  glory 
of  swiftness  in  the  Olympic  course?  For  these  frivol- 
ous honors,  would  the  eager  combatants  endure  so 
many  self-denials,  and  lay  out  all  the  powers  of  a  gen- 
erous and  noble  nature  in  such  arduous  conflicts,  and, 
christians!  when  celestial  mansions,  a  celestial  triumph 
are  before  you,  how  great  should  be  your  holy  zeal,  in 
your  Heavenly  race?  Shall  immortal  joys,  shall  the 
approbation  of  the  Universal  Judge,  shall  crowns  of 


Our  Riding  Sin.  395 

glory,  and  the  applauses  of  an  innumerable  company  of 
angels,  and  of  the  countless  myriads  redeemed  from 
the  earth,  reward  your  victory  in  this  course,  and  what 
self-denials,  what  pious  labors,  should  you  not  be  wil- 
ling to  endure,  what  active  exertions  in  duty,  should 
you  not  be  willing  to  make,  in  order  to  gain  that  ever- 
lasting goal?  Your  unholy  passions,  your  false  and 
guilty  pleasures,  will  you  not  be  ready  to  sacrifice 
them  in  this  conflict  to  the  glory  of  God,  and  the  sal- 
vation of  your  souls?  will  you  not  lay  aside  evet^  weight 
and  encumbrance,  and  above  all  that  sin,  however  deal- 
to  you,  which  doth  so  easily  beset  you,  that  you  may 
run  with  christian  perseverance  and  finish  with  Hea- 
venly and  everlasting  triumph,  the  race  set  before  you? 
In  the  conclusion,  permit  me  to  observe  that  this  sub- 
ject bears  a  relation  to  the  state  both  of  convinced 
sinners,  and  of  sincere  believers.  In  the  one,  this  ru- 
ling sin  is  the  principal  obstacle  to  an  entire  and  un? 
reserved  submission  of  the  heart  to  the  grace  of  the 
gospel,  in  the  other  it  is  the  chief  cause  of  the  imper- 
fection of  their  obedience,  who  fail  at  last,  and  of  the  tar- 
diness of  their  progress  in  the  Divine  life  who  loiter  in 
their  way.  When  the  sinner,  penetrated  with  his 
guilt  is  endeavouring  to  escape  from  the  wrath  to  come, 
is  it  not  the  power  of  this  sin  which  holds  him  a  mi- 
serable captive,  almost  against  his  own  will?  When 
he  seems  on  the  point  of  giving  up  every  other  lust, 
and  making  his  peace  with  God,  what  is  it  that  seems 
to  dash  him  back  from  the  throne  of  grace  but  the 
consciousness  of  this  sin  which  still  keeps  him  ensla- 
ved to  his  corruptions?    Every  thing  else,  perhaps,  he 


S.  POTTER  ^  CO. 

Booksellers  and  Stationers.  JS'b.  87,  Chesnut  Street. 

Propose  publishing 

JEBB'S  SEJiMO.YS, 

in  1  vol.  8vo.     Price  2  dolls. 

GISBORNE'S  SERMONS, 

In  2  vols.  8vo.     Price  5  dollars  boards. 

BARROW'S  TREATISE 

OF   THE 

POPE'S  SUPREMACY, 

lu  1  vol.  8vo.     Price  4  dolls. 
S.  P.  Sf  Co.  have  now  in  press 

A  Royal  8vo.  and  pocket  edition  of  the  Book  ol" 

COMMON  PRAYER, 

Each  with  splendid  engravings  bj 

KEARNEY, 

Price  of  the  large  copy,  from  4  to  8  dolls.  Price  of 
the  pocket  edition,  from  3  to  5  dolls,  depending  al- 
together on  the  style  of  binding. 

S.  POTTER  4f  CO. 

Have  just  published 

MEMOIRS  OF  THE 

PROTESTANT  EPISCOPAL  CHURCH, 

IN  THE 

U^YITED  STA  TES  OF  AMEllICJl, 

From  its  first  organization  to  the  year  1817. 

BY  WILLIAM  WHITE,  D.  D. 

Bishop  of  the  Protestant  Episcopal  Cliurch  in  the  commouwcaUJi 
of  Pennsylvania.     Price  3  doll«. 


MOURNER  COMFORTED, 

A  selection  of  extracts  consolatory  on  the  death  of 

FRIENDS  AND  RELATIVES, 
BY  THE  REV.  JAMES  ABERCROMBIE,  D.  D. 

Senior  Msistant  Minister  of  Christ  Church,  St.  Peters  and  St.  James. 
Price  2  50  bds.     3  dolls,  bound. 

BEANJS'S  FAMILY  WORSHIP, 

Being  a  course  of  Morning  and  Evening  Prayers  for  every  day  in 
the  month,  caiefuUy  revised  and  adapted  to  the  use  of  Chris- 
tians in  the  United  States  of  America.     Price  1  dollar. 

CHANTS 

OF  THE 

.VOi?.W.rG  AJ^D  EVEjyLYG  FRAYER 

AND  THE 

COMMUNION  SERVICE 

OF  THE 

PROTESTANT  EPISCOPAL  CHURCH 

IN  THE 

UJVITED  STJITES. 

Price  1  doll. 

BISHOP  WILSON'S  SACRA  PRIVATA, 

OR  PRIVATE  MEBITATIOJVS  JlJ^D  PRAYERS, 

Price  62  cents. 

LITTLETON'S  OBSERVATIONS, 

On  the  conversion  and  apostleship  of 

SI.  PAUL, 

Price  50  cents. 

BISHOP  GIBSON, 

ON  The 

S^-ICBAMENT  OF  THE  LORD'S  SUPPER, 

Price  50  cents. 

MATTHEW  MEAD'S 

ALMOST  CHRISTIAN, 

OR  THE 

FALSE  PROFESSOR  TRIED  AND  CAST, 

Price  87  1-2  cents. 


VALUABLE  BOOKS, 

For  sale  by  S.  Potter  ^  Co.  JVb.  87,  Chesnut  Street 

Maclin's  splendid  edition  of  the  Holy  Bible,  in  6  vols,  folio,  Rus? 

sia  gilt,  with  numerous  engravings.     Price  300  dolls. 
WestaWs  Bible,  3  vols,  with  numerous  engravings.  Price  36  dolls. 
Poofs  Synopsis  of  the  Holy  Scriptures,  5  vols,  folio,  50  dolls, 
Oiven  on  the  Hebrews,  4  vols,  crown  folio.    Price  40  dolls. 
Holy  Bible,  London  copy,  large  print,  extra  gilt  binding,  50  dolls, 

Thompson's  Seasons,  with  numerous  prints,  from  paintings  by 
Hamilton,  1  vol.  folio.     Price  50  dolls. 

Humphrey's  edition  of  the  Bible,  with  notes  by  Grotius,  Light- 
foot,  Pool,  Calmet,  Patrick,  Lock,  Burkit,  Sir  Isaac  Newtoii 
and  Pearse,  in  3  vols,  folio.     Pi-ice  60  dolls. 

Mant  and  D'Oyhfs  Family  Bible,  now  publisliing,  and  to  be  com- 
pleted in  16  Nos.  forming  2  large  quarto  vols.  9  of  the  Nos. 
are  already  published.     Price  1  doll.  125,  and  150,  per  No. 

GilVs  Exposition  of  the  Old  and  JSTew  Testament,  in  9  vols,  quar- 
to. 

Scott's  Family  Bible,  in  3  vols,  quarto. 

Cruden's  Concordance,  1  vol.  4to. 

Paley's  Tiieological  Works,  5  vols.  8vo. 

Scott's  Theological  Works,  7  vols.  8vo. 

Tracts  against  Popery,  published  1667, 14  vols.  4to. 

Mosheim's  Ecclesiastical  History,  new  edition  4  vols.  8vo. 

Bishop  White's  Works,  4  vols.  Bvo.     Price  12  dolls. 

\*  Orders  for  every  description  of  books,  whether 
of  EngHsh  or  American  publications,  will  be  supplied 
at  the  shortest  notice  on  reasonable  terms,  by 

S.  POTTER  &  CO. 


JB^'  •"  '■  -m', : •'  te-..yFyg».' 


DATE  DUE 


rPJe^S^^^'V 

t?rrF^ 

•^LAorr-.^. 

4i(<SMlPSS^^ 

:,;i.^s«®»*««» 

Kl^ft^ 

■  h  li 

If 

FEB  3 

71 

'    ^^-^^0^^ 

-mm 

jgjtt 

GAYLORD 

PRINTED  IN  USA. 

